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RICHARD WITH DAME ASTR 1 DA. {Page 9.) 























































Ly 

THE LITTLE DUKE; 


RICHARD THE FEARLESS. 


BY 

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE 

ti 


Author of Young Folks’ History of Greece, Rome, Eng- 
ijvnd, France, Germany; Golden Deeds, etc. 




s * 

Fully Illustrated. 


’ MAY 18 JUi/i 
sro ...tf.fi&.f ry ■ 


BOSTON : 

D. LOTHROP & COMPANY, 

FRANKLIN ST., CORNER OF HAWLEY. 

, Qe i*l 







d- 3-^0 










V 



Bv D. Lothrop & Company, 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEK I. 

AT THE HALL - 

CHAPTER II. 

THE SLAIN DUKE - 

CHAPTER III. 

THE CORONATION - 

CHAPTER IV. 

ALBERIC DE MONTEMAR 

CHAPTER V. 

THE KING AND THE DUKE - 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE DEPARTURE - 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE COURT OF LAON 


7 

23 

44 

60 

77 

108 

128 


V 




VI 


Contents. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BACK TO NORMANDY ------- 152 

CHAPTER IX. 

A ROYAL PRISONER ------- 179 

CHAPTER X. 

THE HOSTAGES - . 195 

CHAPTER XI. 

LITTLE CARLOMAN- ------- 206 

CHAPTER XII. 


THE PARLEMENT 


214 




THE LITTLE DUKE. 


CHAPTER I. 


AT THE HALL. 


N a bright autumn day, as long ago as 



the year 943, there was a great bustle 
in the Castle of Bayeux in Normandy. 

The hall was large and low, the roof arched, 
and supported on thick short columns, almost like 
the crypt of a Cathedral; the walls were thick, 
and the windows, which had no glass, were very 
small, set in such a depth of wall that there 
was a wide deep window seat, upon which the 
rain might beat, without reaching the interior 
of the room. And even if it had come in, 
there was nothing for it to hurt, for the walls 
were of rough stone, and the floor of tiles. 
There was a fire at each end of this great 


7 


8 


The Little Duke. 


dark apartment, but there were no chimneys 
over the ample hearths, and the smoke curled 
about in thick white folds in the vaulted roof, 
adding to the wreaths of soot, which made 
the hall look still darker. 

The fire at the lower end was by far the 
largest and hottest. Great black cauldrons hung 
over it, and servants, both men and women, 
with red faces, bare and grimed arms, and 
long iron hooks, or pots and pans, were busied 
around it. At the other end, which was raised 
about three steps above the floor of the hall, 
other servants were engaged. Two young maid¬ 
ens were strewing fresh rushes on the floor; 
some men were setting up a long table of 
rough boards, supported on trestles, and then 
ranging upon it silver cups, drinking horns, and 
wooden trenchers. 

Benches were placed to receive most of the 
guests, but in the middle, at the place of honor, 
was a high chair with very thick crossing legs, 
and the arms curiously carved with lions’ faces 
and claws; a clumsy wooden footstool was set 
in front, and the silver drinking-cup on the 
table was of far more beautiful workmanship 
than the others, richly chased with vine leaves 


At the Hall. 


9 


and grapes, and figures of little boys with 
goats’ legs. If that cup could have told its 
story, it would have been a strange one, for it 
had been made long since, in the old Roman 
times, and had been carried off from Italy by 
some Northman pirate. 

From one of these scenes of activity to the other, 
there moved a stately old lady: her long thick 
light hair, hardly touched with grey, was bound 
round her head, under a tall white cap, with 
a band passing under her chin: she wore a 
long, sweeping dark robe, with wide hanging 
sleeves, and thick gold ear-rings and necklace, 
which had, possibly come from the same quar¬ 
ter as the cup. She directed the servants, 
inspected both the cookery and arrangements 
of the table, held council with an old steward, 
now and then looked anxiously from the win¬ 
dow, as if expecting some one, and began to 

i 

say something about fears that these loitering 
youths would not bring home the venison in 
time for Duke William’s supper. 

Presently, she looked up rejoiced, for a few 
notes of a bugle-horn were sounded; there 
was a clattering of feet, and in a few moments 
there bounded into the hall, a boy of about 


10 


The Little Duke. 


eight years old, his cheeks and large blue eyes 
bright with air and exercise, and his long, light 
brown hair streaming behind him, as he ran 
forward flourishing a bow in his hand, and cry¬ 
ing out “ I hit him, I hit him! Dame Astrida, 
do you hear? ’Tis a stag of ten branches, 
and I hit him in the neck.” 

“ You ! my Lord Richard ! you killed him ? ” 

“ Oh, no, I only struck him. It was Osmond’s 
shaft that took him in the eye, and — look 
3 ^ou, Fru Astrida, he came thus through the 
wood, and I stood here, it might be, under 
the great elm, with my bow thus”—and Rich¬ 
ard was beginning to act over again the whole 
scene of the deer-hunt,.but Fru, that is to say, 
Lady Astrida, was too busy to listen, and 
broke in with, “ Have they brought home the 
haunch ? ” 

“Yes, Walter is bringing it. I had a long 
arrow —” 

A stout forester was at this instant seen bring¬ 
ing in the venison, and Dame Astrida hastened 
to meet it, and gave directions, little Richard 
following her all the way, and talking as eagerly 
as if she was attending to him, showing how 
he shot, how Osmond shot, how the deer 


AC the Hall. 


11 


bounded, and how it fell, and then counting 
the branches of its antlers, always ending with 
“ This is something to tell my father. Do you 
think he will come soon?” 

In the meantime two men entered the hall, 
one about fifty, the other, one of two-and-twenty, 
both in hunting dresses of plain leather, crossed 
by broad embroidered belts, supporting a knife, 
and a bugle-horn. The elder was broad-should¬ 
ered, sun-burnt, ruddy, and rather stern-looking; 
the younger, who was also the taller, was slightly 
made, and very active, with a bright keen grey 
eye, and merry smile. These were Dame Astrida’s 
son, Sir Eric de Centeville, and her grandson, 
Osmond; and to their care Duke William of 
Normandy had committed his only child, Richard, 
to be fostered, or brought up. 1 

It was always the custom among the Northmen 
that young princes should thus be put under 
the care of some trusty vassal, instead of being 
brought up at home, and one reason why the 
Centevilles had been chosen by Duke William 
was, that both Sir Eric and his mother spoke 
only the old Norwegian tongue, which he wished 
young Richard to understand well, whereas in 
other parts of the Duchy, the Normans had for- 


12 


The Little Duke. 


gotten their own tongue and had taken up what 
was then called the Langu^d’oui, a language be¬ 
tween German and Latin, which was the begin¬ 
ning of French. 

On this day, Duke William himself was ex¬ 
pected at Bayeux, to pay a visit to his son before 
setting out on a journey to settle the disputes 
between the Counts of Flanders and Montreuil, 
and this was the reason of Fru Astrida’s great 
preparations. No sooner had she seen the haunch 
placed upon a spit, which a little boy was to 
turn before the fire, than she turned to dress 
something else, namely, the young Prince Rich¬ 
ard himself, whom she led off to one of the sup¬ 
per-rooms, and there he had full time to talk, 
while she, great lady though she was, herself 
combed smooth his long flowing curls, and fast¬ 
ened his short scarlet cloth tunic, which just 
reached to his knee, leaving his neck, arms, and 
legs bare. He begged hard to be allowed to 
wear a short, beautifully ornamented dagger 
at his belt, but this Fru Astrida would not 
allow. 

“You will have enough to do with steel and 
dagger before your life is at an end,” said she, 
“without seeking to begin over soon.” 


At the Hall. 


13 


“ To be sure I shall,” answered Richard. “ I 
will be called Richard of the Sharp Axe, or 
the Bold Spirit, I promise you, Fru Astrida. 
We are as brave in these days as the Sigurds 
and Ragnars you sing of! I only wish there 
were serpents and dragons to slay here in Nor¬ 
mandy.” 

“ Never fear but you will find even to many 
of them,” said Dame Astrida; “there be dragons 
of wrong here and everywhere, quite as venomous 
as any in my Sagas.” 

“ I fear them not,” said Richard, but half un¬ 
derstanding her, “ if you would only let me have 
the dagger! But, hark! hark ! ” he darted to 
the window. “ They come, they come ! There is 
the banner of Normandy.” 

Away ran the happy child, and never rested 
till he stood at the bottom of the long, steep, stone 
stair, leading to the embattled porch. Thither 
came the Baron de Centeville, and his son, to re¬ 
ceive their Prince. Richard looked up at Osmond, 
saying, “ Let me hold his stirrup,” and then 
sprang up and shouted for joy, as under the 
arched gateway there came a tall black horse, 
bearing the stately form of the Duke of Nor¬ 
mandy. His purple robe was fastened round 


14 


The Little Duke. 


him by a rich belt, sustaining the mighty weapon, 
from which he was called 44 William of the long 
Sword,” his legs and feet were cased in linked 
steel chain-work, his gilded spurs were on his 
heels, and his short brown hair was covered by 
his ducal cap of purple, turned up with fur, 
and a feather fastened in by a jewelled clasp. 
His brow was grave and thoughtful, and there 
was something both of dignity and sorrow in 
his face, at the first moment of looking at it, 
recalling the recollection that he had early lost 
his young wife, the Duchess Emma, and that 
he was beset by many cares and toils; but the 
next glance generally conveyed encouragement, 
so full of mildness were his eyes, and so kind the 
expression of his lips. 

And now, how bright a smile beamed upon 
the little Richard, who, for the first time, paid 
him the duty of a pupil in chivalry, by hold¬ 
ing the stirrup while he sprang from his horse. 
Next, Richard knelt to receive his blessing, which 
was always the custom when children met their 
parents. The Duke laid his hand on his head, 
saying, 44 God of his mercy bless thee, my son,” 
and lifting him in his arms, held him to his 
breast, and let him cling to his neck and kiss 


At the Hall. 


15 


him again and again, before sitting him down, 
while Sir Eric came forward, bent his knee, kissed 
the hand of his Prince and welcomed him to 
his Castle. 

It would take too long to tell all the friendly 
and courteous words that were spoken, the greet¬ 
ing of the Duke and the noble old Lady Astrida, 
and the reception of the Barons who had come 
in the train of their Lord. Richard was bidden 
to greet them, but, though he held out his hand 
as desired, he shrank a little to his father’s side 
gazing at them in dread and shyness. 

There was Count Bernard, of Harcourt, called 
the “ Dane,” 2 with his shaggy red hair and beard, 
to which a touch of grey had given a strange 
unnatural tint, his eyes looking fierce and wild un¬ 
der his thick eyebrows, one of them mis-shapened 
in consequence of a sword cut, which had left 
a broad red and purple scar across both cheek 
and forehead. There, too, came tall Baron Rain- 
ulf, of Ferri&res, cased in a linked steel hauberk, 
that rang as he walked, and the men-at-arms, 
with helmets and shields, looking as if Sir Eric’s 
armour that hung in the hall had come to life 
and was walking about. 

They sat down to Fru Astrida’s banquet, the 


16 


The Little Duke. 


old Lady at the Duke’s right hand, and the Count 
of Harcourt on his left; Osmond carved for the 
Duke, and Richard handed his cup and trencher. 
All through the meal, the Duke and his Lords 
talked earnestly of the expedition on which they 
were bound to meet Count Arnulf of Flanders, 
on a little islet in the river Somme, there to 
come to some agreement, by which Arnulf might 
make restitution to Count Herluin of Montreuil, 
for certain wrongs which he had done him. 

Some said that this would be the fittest time 
for requiring Arnulf to yield up some towns on 
his borders, to which Normandy had long lain 
claim, but the Duke shook his h'pad, saying that 
he must seek no selfish advantage, when called 
to judge between others. 

Richard was rather tired of their grave talk, 
and thought the supper very long; but at last 
it was over, the Grace was said, the boards which 
had served for tables were removed, and as it 
was still light, some of the guests went to see 
how their steeds had been bestowed, others to 
look at Sir Eric’s horses and hounds, and others 
collected together in groups. 

The Duke had time to attend to his little boy, 
and Richard sat upon his knee and talked, told 


At the Hall. 


17 


about all his pleasures, how his arrow had hit 
the deer to-day, how Sir Eric let him ride out to 
the chase on his little pony, how Osmand would 
take him to bathe in the cool bright river, and 
how he had watched the raven’s nest in the top 
of the old tower. 

Duke William listened, and smiled, and seemed 
as well pleased to hear as the boy was to tell. 
“ And, Richard,” said he at last, “ have you 
nought to tell me of Father Lucas, and his great 
book ? What, not a word ? Look up, Richard, 
and tell me how it goes with the learning.” 3 

“ Oh, father! ” said Richard, in a low voice, 
playing with the clasp of his father’s belt, and 
looking down, “ I don’t like those crabbed letters 
on the old yellow parchment.” 

“But you try to learn them, I hope!” said 
the Duke. 

“Yes, father, I do, but they are very hard, 
and the words are so long, and Father Lucas 
will always come when the sun is so bright, and 
the wood so green, that I know not how to bear 
to be kept poring over those black hooks and 
strokes.” 

“ Poor little fellow,” said Duke William, smil¬ 
ing, and Richard, rather encouraged, went on 


18 


The Little Luke . 


more boldly. “You do not know this reading, 
noble father ? ” 

“ To my sorrow, no,” said the Duke. 

“ And Sir Eric cannot read, nor Osmond, 
nor any one, and why must I read, and cramp 
my fingers with writing, just as if I was a 
clerk, instead of a young Duke?” Richard 
looked up in his father’s face, and then hung 
his head, as if half-ashamed of questioning his 
will but the Duke answered him without dis¬ 
pleasure. 

“ It is hard, no doubt, my boy, to you now, 
but it will be better for you in the end. I 
would give much to be able myself to read 
those holy, books which I must now only hear 
read to me by a clerk, but since I have had the 
wish, I have had no time to learn as you have 
now.” 

“ But knights and nobles never learn,” said 
Richard. 

“And do you think it a reason they never 
should? But you are wrong, my boy, for the 
Kings of France and England, the Counts of 
Anjou of Provence, and Paris, yes, even King 
Hako of Norway, 4 can all read. 

“I tell 3 r ou, Richard when the treaty was 


At the Hall. 


19 


drawn up for restoring this King Louis to his 
throne, I was ashamed to find myself one of 
the few crown vassals who could not write his 
name thereto.” 

“But none is so wise or so good as you, 
father,” said Richard proudly. “Sir Eric often 
says so.” 

“ Sir Eric loves his Duke too well to see his 
faults,” said Duke William; “far better and 
wiser might I have been, had I been taught 
by such masters as you may be. And hark, 
Richard, not only can all Princes here read, but 
in England, King Ethelstane would have every 
Noble taught; they study in his own palace, 
with his brothers, and read the good words that 
King Alfred the truth-teller put into their own 
tongue for them.” 

“ I hate English,” said Richard, raising his 
head and looking very fierce. 

“ Hate them ? and wherefore ? ” 

“ Because they traitorously killed the brave 
Sea King Ragnar ! Fru Astrida sings his death- 
song, which he chanted when the vipers w’ere 
gnawing him to death, and he gloried to think 
how his sons would bring the ravens to feast 
upon the Saxon. Oh! had I been his son, how 



20 


The Little Duke. 


I would have carried on the feud! How I 
would have laughed when I cut down the false 
traitors, and burnt their palaces! ” Richard’s 
eye kindled, and his words, as he spoke the old 
Norse language, flowed into the sort of wild 
verse in which the Sagas or legendary songs 
were composed and which, perhaps, he was 
unconsciously repeating. 

Duke William looked grave. 

“Fru Astrida must sing you no more such 
Sagas,” said he, “if they fill your mind with 
these revengeful thoughts, fit only for the wor¬ 
shippers of Odin and Thor. Neither Ragnar 
nor his sons knew better than to rejoice ire this 
deadly vengeance, but we, who are Christians, 
know that it is for us to forgive.” 

“ The English had slain their father! ” said 
Richard, looking up with wondering dissatisfied 
eyes. 

“ Yes, Richard, and I speak not against them, 
for they were even as we should have been, ly.id 
not King Harold the fair-haired driven your 
grandfather from Denmark. They had not been 
taught the truth, but to us it has been said, 
‘ Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.’ Listen to 
me, my son; Christian as is this nation of ours, 


At the Hall . 


21 


this duty of forgiveness is too often neglected, 
but let it not be so with you. Bear in mind, 
whenever you see the Cross 5 marked on our 
banner, or carved in stone on the Churches, 
that it speaks of forgiveness to us; but of that 
pardon we shall never taste if we forgive not 
our enemies. Do you mark me, boy?” 

Richard hesitated a little, and then said, “ Yes, 
father, but I could never have pardoned, had T 
been one of Ragnar’s sons.” 

“ It ma} r be that you will be in their case, 
Richard,” said the Duke, “ and should I fall, as 
it may well be I shall, in some of the contests 
that tear to pieces this unhappj' Kingdom of 
France, then, remember what I say now. I 
charge you, on your duty to God and to your 
father, that you keep up no feud, no hatred, 
but rather that you should deerff me best re¬ 
venged, when you have, with heart and hand, 
given the fullest proof of forgiveness to your 
enemy. Give me your word that you will.” 

“ Yes, father,” said Richard, with rather a 
subdued* tone, and resting his head on liis 
father’s shoulder. There was a silence for a 
little space, during which he began to revive 
into playfulness, to stroke the Duke’s short 


22 


The Little Duke. 


curled beard, and play with liis embroidered 
collar. 

In so doing, his fingers caught hold of a silver 
chain, and pulling it out with a jerk, he saw a 
silver key attached to it. “ Oh, what is that ? ” 
he asked eagerly. “ What does that key un¬ 
lock ? ” 

“My greatest treasure,” replied Duke William, 
as he replaced the chain and key within his robe. 

“ Your greatest treasure, father! Is that your 
coronet ? ” 

“ You will know one day,” said his father, 
putting the little hand down from its too busy 
investigations; and some of the Barons at that 
moment returning into the hall, he had no more 
leisure to bestow on his little son. 

The next day, after morning service in the 
Chapel, and breakfast in the hall, the Duke 
again set forward on his journey, giving Richard 
hopes he might return in a fortnight's time, and 
obtaining from him a promise that he would be 
very attentive to Father Lucas, and very obedi¬ 
ent to Sir Eric de Centeviile. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE SLAIN DUKE. 



NE evening Fru Astrida sat in her tall 


chair in the chimney corner, her distaff, 
with its load of flax, in her hand, while she 
twisted and drew out the thread, and her spindle 
danced on the floor. Opposite to her sat, sleeping 
in his chair, Sir Eric de Centeville; Osmond was 
on a low bench within the chimney corner, 
trimming and shaping with his knife some 
feathers of the wild goose, which were to fly 
in a different fashion from their former one, 
and serve, not to wing the flight of a harmless 
goose, but of a sharp arrow. 

The men of the household sat ranged on 
benches on one side of the hall, .the women on 
the other; a great red fire, together with an 


24 


The Little Duke . 


immense flickering lamp which hung from the 
ceiling, supplied the light; the windows were 
closed with wooden shutters, and the whole 
apartment had a cheerful appearance. Two or 
three large hounds were reposing in front of 
the hearth, and among them sat little Richard 
of Normandy, now smoothing down their broad 
silken ears; now tickling the large cushions of 
their feet with the end of one of Osmond’s 
feathers; now fairly pulling open the eyes of 
one of the good-natured sleepy creatures, which 
only stretched its. legs, and remonstrated with 
a sort of low groan, rather than a growl. The 
boy’s eyes were, all the time, intently fixed on 
Dame Astrida, as if he would not lose one 
word of the- story she was telling him ; how Earl 
Rollo, his grandfather, had sailed into the mouth 
of the Seine, and how Archbishop Franco, of 
Rouen, had come to meet him and brought him 
the keys of the town, and how not one Neustrian 
of Rouen had met with harm from the brave 
Northmen. Then she told him of his grand¬ 
father’s baptism, and how during the seven days 
that he wore his white baptismal robes, he had 
made large gifts to all the chief churches in his 
dukedom of Normandy. 


The Slain Duke . 


25 


“ Oh, but tell of the paying homage! ” said 
Richard i “ and how Sigurd Bloodaxe threw 
down simple King Charles! Ah! how would I 
have laughed to see it! ” 

“Nay, nay, Lord Richard,” said the old lady, 
“ I love not that tale. That was ere the Norman 
learnt courtesy, and rudeness ought rather to be 
forgotten than remembered, save for the sake 
of amending it. No, I will rather tell you of our 
coming to Centeville, and how dreary I thought 
these smooth meads, and broad soft gliding 
streams, compared with mine own father’s fiord 
in Norway, shut in with the tall black rocks, 
and dark pines above them, and far away the 
snowy mountains rising into the sky. Ah! how 
blue the waters were in the long summer days 
when I sat in my father’s boat in the little fiord, 
and-” 

Dame Astrida was interrupted. A bugle note 
rang out at the castle gate; the dogs started to 
their feet, and uttered a sudden deafening bark; 
Osmond sprung up, exclaiming, “ Hark ! ” and 
trying to silence the hounds; and Richard, run¬ 
ning to Sir Eric, cried, “ Wake, wake, Sir Eric, 
my father is come ! Oh, haste to open the gate, 
and admit him.” 



26 


The Little Luke. 


“ Peace, dogs! ” said Sir Eric, slowly rising, 
as the blast of the horn was repeated. “ Go, 
Osmond, with the porter, and see whether he 
who comes at such an hour be friend or foe. 
Stay you here, my Lord,” he added, as Richard 
was running after Osmond; and the little boy 
obeyed, and stood still, though quivering all 
over with impatience. 

“ Tidings from the Duke, I should guess,” said 
Fru Astrida. “ It can scarce be himself at such 
an hour.” 

“Oh, it must be, dear Fru Astrida!” said 
Richard. “ He said he would come again. Hark, 
there are horses’ feet in the court! I am sure 
that it is his black charger’s tread ! And I shall 
not be there to hold his stirrup ! Oh! Sir Eric, 
let me go.” 

Sir Eric, always a man of few words, only 
shook his head, and at that moment steps were 
heard on the stone stairs. Again Richard was 
about to spring forward, when Osmond returned, 
his face showing, at a glance, that something 
was amiss; but all that he said was, “ Count 
Bernard of Harcourt, and Sir Rainulf de 
Ferrieres,” and he stood aside to let them pass. 

Richard stood still in the midst of the hall, 


The Slain Duke. 


27 


disappointed. Without greeting to Sir Eric, or 
to any within the hall, the Count of Harcourt 
came forward to Richard, bent his knee before 
him, took his hand, and said with a broken voice 
and heaving breast, “Richard, Duke of Nor¬ 
mandy, I am thy liegeman and true vassal; ” 
then rising from his knees while Rainulf de Fer- 
riehes went through the same form, the old man 
covered his face with his hands and wept aloud. 

“ Is it even so ? ” said the Baron de Centeville ; 
and being answered by a mournful look and sigh 
from Ferrieres, he too bent before the boy, and 
repeated the words, “ I am thy liegeman and true 
vassal, and swear fealty to thee for my castle and 
barony of Centeville.” 

“ O no, no!” cried Richard, drawing back his 
hand in a sort of agony, feeling as if he was in 
a frightful dream from which he could not awake. 
“What means it? Oh! Fru Astrida, tell me, 
what means it ? Where is my father ? ” 

“Alas, my child!” said the old lady, putting 
her arm round him, and drawing him close to 
her, whilst her tears flowed fast, and Richard 
stood, re-assured by her embrace, listening with 
eyes open wide, and deep oppressed breathing, 
to what was passing between the four nobles, who 


28 


The Little Duke. 


spoke earnestly among themselves, without much 
heed of him. 

“ The Duke dead ! ” repeated Sir Eric de Cen- 
teville, like one stunned and stupefied. 

“ Even so,” said Rainulf, slowly and sadly, 
and the silence was only broken by the long- 
drawn sobs of old Count Bernard. 

“But how? when? where?” broke forth Sir 
Eric, presently. “ There was no note of battle 
when you went forth. Oh, why was not I at 
his side?” 

“ He fell not in battle,” gloomily replied Sir 
Rainulf. 

“ Ha! Could sickness cut him down so 
quickly ? ” 

“It was not sickness,” answered Ferrieres. 
“It was treachery. He fell in the isle of Pec- 
quigny, by the hand of the false Fleming! ” 

“Lives the traitor yet?” cried the Baron de 
Centeville, grasping his good sword. 

“ He lives and rejoices in his crime,” said 
Ferrieres, “safe in his own merchant towns.” 

“ I can scarce credit you, my Lords ! ” said Sir 
Eric. “ Our Duke slain, and his enemy safe, 
and you here to tell the tale ! ” 

“I would I were stark and stiff by my Lord's 


The Slain Duke. 


29 


side! ” said Count Bernard, “ but for the sake of 
Normandy, and of that poor chiid, who is like 
to need all that ever were friends to his house. 
I would that mine eyes had been blinded for¬ 
ever, ere they had seen that sight! And not a 
sword lifted in his defence ! Tell you how it 
passed, Iiainulf! My tongue will not speak 
it! ” 

He threw himself on a bench and covered his 
face with his mantle, while Rainulf de Ferrieres 
proceeded: 

“You know how in an evil hour our good 
Duke appointed to meet this caitiff, Count of 
Flanders, in the Isle of Pecquigny, the Duke 
and Count each bringing twelve men with them, 
all unarmed. Duke Alan of Brittany was one 
on our side, Count Bernard here another, old 
Count Botlion and myself; we bore no weapon 
— would that we had — but not so the false 
Flemings. Ah me! I shall never forget Duke 
William’s lordly presence when he stepped 
ashore, and doffed his bonnet to the knave 
Arnulf.” 

“Yes,” interposed Bernard. “And marked 
you not the words of the traitor as they met? 
‘My Lord,’ quoth he, “you are my shield and 


30 


The Little Duke. 


defence .” 6 Would that I could cleave his treason¬ 
hatching skull with my battle-axe.” 

“So,” continued Rainulf, “they conferred to¬ 
gether, and as words cost nothing to Arnulf, he 
not only promised all restitution to the paltry 
Montreuil, but w r as for ottering to pay homage 
to our Duke for Flanders itself; but this our 
William refused, saying it were foul wrong to 
both King Louis of France, and Kaiser Otho 
of Germany, to take from them their vassal. 
They took leave of each other in all courtesy, 
and we embarked again. It was Duke William’s 
pleasure to go alone in a small boat, while we 
twelve were together in another. Just as we 
had nearly reached our own bank, there was a 
shout from the Flemings that their Count had 
somewhat further to say to the Duke, and for¬ 
bidding us to follow him, the Duke turned his 
boat and went back again. No sooner had he 
set foot on the isle,” proceeded the Norman 
clenching his hands and speaking between his 
teeth, “than we saw one Fleming strike him on 
the head with an oar; he fell senseless, the rest 
threw themselves upon him, and the next mo¬ 
ment held up their bloody daggers in scorn at 
us! You may well think how we shouted and 


The Slain Duke, 


31 


yelled at them, and plyed our oars like men 
distracted, but all in vain, they were already in 
their boats, and ere we could even reach the 
isle, they were on the other side of the river, 
mounted their horses, fled with coward speed, 
and were out of reach of a Norman’s vengeance.” 

“ But they shall not be so long! ” cried Richard 
starting forward; for to his childish fancy this 
dreadful history was more like one of Dame 
Astrida’s legends than a reality, and at the mo¬ 
ment his thought was only of the blackness of 
the treason. “ O that I were a man to chastise 
them. One day they shall feel — ” 

He broke off short, for he remembered how 
his father had forbidden his denunciations of 
vengeance, but his words were eagerly caught up 
by the Barons, who, as Duke William had said, 
were far from possessing any temper of forgive¬ 
ness, thought revenge a duty, and were only glad 
to see a warlike spirit in their new Prince. 

“Ha! say you so, my young Lord?” ex¬ 
claimed old Count Bernard rising. “ Yes, and I 
see a sparkle in your eye that tells me you 
will one day avenge him nobly!” 

Richard drew up his head, and his heart 
throbbed high as Sir Eric made answer: 


32 


The Little Luke. 


“ Aye, truly, that will he! You might search 
Normandy through, yea, and Norway likewise, 
ere you would find a temper more bold and 
free. Trust my word, Count Bernard, our young 
Duke will be famed as "widely as ever were his 
forefathers! ” 

“ I believe it well! ” said Bernard. “ He hath 
the port of his grandfather, Duke Hollo, and 
much too, of his noble father! How say you, 
Lord Richard, will you be a valiant leader of 
the Norman race against our foes ? ” 

u That I will! ” said Richard, carried away by 
the applause excited by those few words of his. 
“ I will ride at your head this very night if you 
will but go to chastise the false Flemings.” 

“ You shall ride with us to-morrow my lord,” 
answered Bernard, “but it must be to Rouen, 
there to be invested with your ducal sword and 
mantle, and to receive the homage of your 
vassals.” 

Richard dropped his head without replying, 
for this seemed to bring to him the perception, 
* that his father was really gone, and that he 
should never see him again. He thought of all 
his projects for the day of his return, how he 
had almost counted the Lours, and had looked 


The Slam Duke. 


88 


forward to Celling him that Father Lucas was 
well pleased with him ! And now he should 
never nestle into his breast again, never hear 
his voice, never see those kind eyes beam upon 
him. Large tears gathered in his eyes, and 
ashamed that they should be seen, he sat down 
on a footstool at Fru Astrida’s feet, leant his 
forehead on his hands, and thought over all that 
his father had done and said the last time they 
were together. He fancied the return that had 
been promised, going over the meeting and the 
greeting, till he had almost persuaded himself 
that this dreadful story was but a dream. But 
when he looked up, there were the Barons, with 
their grave mournful faces, speaking of the corpse, 
which Duke Alan of Brittany was escorting to 
Rouen, there to be buried beside the old Duke 
Rollo, and the Duchess Emma, Richard’s mother. 
Then he lost himself in wonder how that stiff 
bleeding body could be the same as the father 
whose arm was so lately around him, and whether 
his father’s spirit knew how he was thinking of 
him; and in these dreamy thoughts the young 
orphan Duke of Normandy forgotten by his vas¬ 
sals in their grave councils* fell asleep, and scarce 
wakened enough to attend to his prayers, when 


34 


The Little Duke. 


Fru Astrida at length remembered him and led 
liim away to bed. 

When Richard awoke the next morning, he 
could hardly believe that all that had passed in 
the evening was true, but soon he found that it 
was but too real, and all was prepared for him 
to go to Rouen with the vassals; indeed, it was 
for no other purpose than to fetch him, that the 
Count of Harcourt had come to Bayeux. Fru 
Astrida was quite unhappy that “ the child,” as 
she called him, should go alone with the war¬ 
riors : but Sir Eric laughed at her, and said 
that it would never do for the Duke of Nor¬ 
mandy to bring his nurse with him in his first 
entry into Rouen, and she must be content to 
follow at some space behind, under the escort 
of Walter, the huntsman. 

So she took leave of Richard, charging both 
Sir Eric and Osmond to have the utmost care 
of him, and shedding tears as if the parting was 
to be for a much longer space; then he bade 
farewell to the servants of the castle, received 
the blessing of Father Lucas, and mounting his 
pony, rode off between Sir Eric and Count Ber¬ 
nard. Richard was but a little boy, and he did 
not think so much of his loss, as he rode along 


The Slain Duke . 


35 


in the free morning air, feeling himself a Prince 
at the head of his vassals, his banner displayed 
before him, and the people coming out wherever 
he passed to gaze on him, and call for blessings 
on his name. Rainulf de Ferri&res carried a large 
heavy purse filled with silver and gold, and when¬ 
ever the} r came to these gazing crowds, Richard 
was well pleased to thrust his hands deep into it, 
and scatter handfuls of coin among the gazers, 
especially where he saw little children. 

They stopped to dine and rest in the middle 
of the day, at the castle of a Baron, who, as 
soon as the meal was over, mounted his horse, 
and joined them in their ride to Rouen. So far 
it had not been very different from Richard’s 
last journey, when he went to keep Christmas 
there with his father; but now they were begin¬ 
ning to come nearer the town, he knew the broad 
river Seine again, and saw the square tower of 
the Cathedral, and he remembered, how at that 
very place his father had met him, and how he 
had ridden by his side into the town, and had 
been led by his hand up to the hall. 

His heart was very heavy, as he recollected 
there was no one now to meet and welcome 
him; scarcely any one to whom he could even 


86 


The Little Duke . 


tell his thoughts, for those tall grave Barons 
had nothing to say to such a little boy, and the 
very respect and formality with which they treated 
him, made him shrink from them still more, es¬ 
pecially from the grim-faced Bernard; and Os¬ 
mond, his own friend and playfellow, was obliged 
to ride far behind, as inferior in rank. 

They entered the town just as it was growing 
dark. Count Bernard looked back and arra}^ed 
the procession ; Eric de Centeville bade Richard 
sit upright and not look weary, and then all the 
Knights held back while the little Duke rode 
alone a little in advance of them through the 
gateway. There was a loud shout of “ Long live 
the little Duke ! ” and crowds of people were 
standing round to gaze upon his entry, so many, 
that the bag of coins was soon emptied by his 
largesses. The whole city was like one great 
castle, shut in by a wall and moat, and with 
Rollo’s Tower rising at one end like the keep 
of a castle, and it was thither that Richard was 
turning his horse, when the Count of Harcourt 
said: 

“Nay, my Lord, to the Church of our Lady .” 7 

It was then considered a duty to be paid to 
the deceased, that their relatives and friends 


The Slain Duke. 


37 


should visit them as they lay in state, and sprin¬ 
kle them with drops of holy water, and Richard 
was now to pay this token of respect. He trem¬ 
bled a little, and yet it did not seem quite so 
dreary, since he should once more look on his 
father’s face, and he accordingly rode towards 
the Cathedral. It was then very unlike what 
it is now ; the walls were very thick, the windows 
small and almost buried in heavy carved arches, 
the columns within were low, clumsy and cir¬ 
cular, and it was usually so dark that the vault¬ 
ing of the roof could scarcely be seen. 

Now, however, a whole flood of light poured 
forth from every window, and when Richard 
came to the door, he saw not only the two tall 
thick candles that always burnt on each side 
of the Altar, but in the Chancel stood a double 
row ranged in a square, shedding a pure, quiet 
brilliancy throughout the building, and chiefly 
on the silver and gold ornaments of the Altar. 
Outside these lights knelt a row of priests in 
dark garments, their heads bowed over their 
clasped hands, and their chanted psalms sound¬ 
ing sweet, and full of soothing music. Within 
that guarded space was a bier and a form lay 
on it. 


88 


The Little Lxike. 


Richard trembled still more with awe, and 
would have paused, but he w r as obliged to pro¬ 
ceed. He dipped diis hand in the water of the 
font, crossed his brow and came slowly on, 
sprinkled the remaining drops on the lifeless 
figure, and then stood still. There was an op¬ 
pression on his breast as if he could neither 
breathe nor move. 

There lay William of the Long Sword, like a 
good and true Christian warrior, arrayed in his 
shining armor, his sword by his side, his shield 
on his arm, and a cross between his hands, clasped 
upon his breast. His ducal mantle of crimson 
velvet, lined with ermine, was round his shoul¬ 
ders, and instead of a helmet his coronet was 
on his head; but in contrast with this rich array, 
over the collar of the hauberk, was folded the 
edge of a rough hair shirt, which the Duke had 
worn beneath his robes, unknown to all, until 
his corpse was disrobed of his blood-stained gar¬ 
ments. His face looked full of calm solemn 
peace, as if he had gently fallen asleep, and was 
only awaiting the great call to awaken. There 
was not a single token of violence visible about 
him, save that one side of liis forehead bore a 
deep purple mark, where he had first been 


The Slain Duke. 


30 


struck by the blow of the oar which had de¬ 
prived him of sense. 

“ See you that, my Lord ? ” said Count Ber¬ 
nard, first breaking the silence, in a low, deep, 
stern voice. 

Richard had heard little for many hours past 
save counsels against the Flemings, and plans 
of bitter enmity against them ; and the sight of 
his murdered father, with that look and tone 
of the old Dane, fired his spirit, and breaking 
from his trance of silent awe and grief, lie ex¬ 
claimed, “ I see it, and dearly shall the traitor 
Fleming abye it! ” Then, encouraged by the 
applauding looks of the nobles, he proceeded, 
feeling like one of the young champions of Fru 
Astrida’s songs. His cheek was colored, his eye 
lighted up, and he lifted his head, so that the 
hair fell back from his forehead; he laid his 
hand on the hilt of his father’s sword, and spoke 
on in words, perhaps suggested by some sage. 
“Yes, Arnulf of Flanders! know that Duke 
William of Normandy shall not rest unavenged! 
On this good sword 1 vow, that as soon as my 

arm shall have strength-” 

The rest was left unspoken, for a hand was 
laid on his arm. A priest, who had hitherto 



40 


The Little Duke. 


been kneeling near the head of the corpse, had 
risen, and stood tall and dark oyer him, and 
looking up, he recognized the pale, grave coun¬ 
tenance of Martin, Abbot of Jumi&ges, his father’s 
chief friend and councillor. 

“Richard of Normandy, what sayest thou?” 
said he, sternly. “ Yes, hang thy head, and 
reply not, rather than repeat those words. Dost 
thou come here to disturb the peace of the dead 
with clamors for vengeance ? Dost thou vow 
strife and anger on that sword which was never 
drawn, save in the cause of the poor and dis¬ 
tressed? Wouldst thou rob Him, to whose ser¬ 
vice thy life has been pledged, and devote thyself 
to that of His foe? Is this what thou hast learnt 
from thy blessed father ? ” 

Richard made no answer, but he covered his 
face with his hands, to hide the tears which 
were fast streaming. 

“ Lord Abbot, Lord Abbot, this passes ! ” ex¬ 
claimed Bernard the Dane. “ Our young Lord 
is no monk, and we will not see each spark 
of noble and knightly spirit quenched as soon 
as it shows itself.” 

“Count of Harcourt,” said Abbot Martin, 
“ are these the words of a savage Pagan, or of 


The Slain Duke . 


41 


one who has been washed in yonder blessed 
font? Never, while I have power, shalt thou 
darken the child’s soul with thy foul thirst of 
revenge, insult the presence of thy master with 
the crime he so abhorred, nor the temple of 
Him who came to pardon, with thy hatred. 
Well do I know, ye Barons of Normandy, that 
each drop of your blood would willingly be 
given, could it bring back our departed Duke, 
or guard his orphan child; but if ye have 
loved the father, do his bidding — lay aside 
that accursed spirit of hatred and vengeance; 
if ye love the child, seek not to injure his 

soul more deeply than even his bitterest foe, 
were it Arnulf himself, hath power to hurt 
him.” 

The Barons were silenced, whatever their 
0 thoughts might be, and Abbot Martin turned 
to Richard, whose tears were still dropping fast 
through his fingers, as the thought of those 
last words of his father returned more clearly 
upon him. The Abbot laid his hand on his 

head, and spoke gently to him. “ These are 

tears of a softened heart, I trust, ” said he. 

“ I well believe that thou didst scarce know 
what thou wert saying.” 


42 


The Little Duke. 


“ Forgive me! ” said Richard, as well as he 
could speak. 

“ See there,” said the priest, pointing to the 
large Cross over the Altar, “ thou knowest the 
meaning of that sacred sign ? ” 

Richard bowed his head in assent and 
reverence. 

“It speaks of forgiveness,” continued the 
Abbot. “ And knowest thou who gave that 
pardon ? The Son forgave His murderers; the 
Father them who slew His Son. And shalt 
thou xall for vengeance ? ” 

But oh ! ” said Richard, looking up, “ must 
that cruel, murtlerous traitor glory unpunished 
in his crime, while there lies —” and again his 
voice was cut off by tears. 

“Vengeance shall surely overtake the sinner,” 
said Martin, “ the vengeance of the Lord, and 
in His own good time, but it must not be of 
thy seeking. Nay, Richard, thou art of all 
men the most bound to show love and mercy 
to Arnulf of Flanders. Yes, when the hand of 
the Lord hath touched him, and bowed him 
down in punishment for his crime, it is then, 
that thou, whom he h&tji most deeply injured, 
shouldst stretch out thine hand to aid him, and 


The Slain Duke. 


43 


receive him with pardon and peace. If thou 
dost vow aught on the sword of thy blessed 
father, in the sanctuary of thy Redeemer, let 
it be a Christian vow.” 

Richard wept too bitterly to speak, and 
Bernard de Harcourt, taking his band, led 
him away from the Church. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE CORONATION. 


UKE William of the Long Sword was 



buried the next morning in high pomp 
and state, with many a prayer and psalm chanted 
over his grave. 

When this was over, little Richard, who had 
all the time stood or knelt nearest the corpse, 
in one dull heavy dream of wonder and sorrow, 
was led back to the palace, and there his long 
heavy, black garments were taken off, and he 
was dressed in his short scarlet tunic, his hair 
was carefully arranged, and then he came down 
again into the hall, where there was a great 
assembly of Barons, some in armor, some in 
long furred gowns, who had all been attending 
his father's burial. Richard, as he was desired 


44 


The Coronation. 


45 


by Sir Eric de Centeville, took off his cap, and 
bowed low in reply to the reverences with 
which they all greeted his entrance, and he then 
slowly crossed the hall, and descended the steps 
from the door, while they formed into a pro¬ 
cession behind him, according to their ranks — 
the Duke of Brittany first, and then all the 
rest, down to the poorest knight who held his 
manor immediately from the Duke of Normandy. 

Thus, they proceeded, in slow and solemn 
order till they came to the church of our Lady. 
The clergy were there already, ranged in ranks 
on each side of the Choir; and the Bishops, 
in their mitres and rich robes, each with his 
pastoral staff in his hand, were standing round 
the Altar. As the little Duke entered, there 
arose from all the voices in the Chancel the 
full, loud, clear chant of Te Deum Laudamus, 
echoing among the dark vaults of the roof. To 
that sound, Richard walked up the Choir, to a 
large, heavy, crossed-legged carved chair, raised 
on two steps, just before the steps of the Altar 
began, and there he stood, Bernard de Harcourt 
and Eric de Centeville on each side of him, 
and all his other vassals in due order, in the 
Choir. 


46 


The Little Luke. 


After the beautiful chant of the hymn was 
ended, the service for the Holy Communion 
began. When the time came for the offering, 
each noble gave gold or silver; and, lastly, 
Rainulf of Ferri&res came up to the steps of 
the Altar with a cushion, on which was placed 
a circlet of Gold, the ducal coronet; and an¬ 
other Baron, following him closety, carried a 
long, heavy sword, with a cross handle. The 
Archbishop of Rouen received both coronet and 
sword, and laid them on the Altar. Then the 
service proceeded. At that time the rite of 
Confirmation was administered in infancj r , and 
Richard, who had been confirmed by his god- 
fatheiv the Archbishop of Rouen, immediately 
after liis baptism, knelt in solmn awe to receive 
the other Holy Sacrament from his hands, as 
soon as all the clergy had communicated . 8 

When the administration was over, Richard 
was led forward to the steps of the Altar by 
Count Bernard, and Sir Eric, and the Arch¬ 
bishop, laying one hand upon both his, as he 
held them clasped together, demanded of him, 
in the name of God, and of the people of 
Normandy, whether he would be their good 
and true ruler, guard them from their foes, 


The Coronation. 


47 


maintain truth, punish iniquity and protect the 
Church. 

“ I will! ” answered Richard’s young, trembling 
voice, “ So help me God! ” and he knelt, and 
kissed the book of the Holy Gospels, which the 
Archbishop offered him. 

It was a great and awful oath, and he dreaded 
to think that he had taken it. He still knelt, 
put both hands over his face, and whispered, 
“ O God, my Father, help me to keep it.” 

The Archbishop waited till he rose, and then, 
turning him with his face to the people, said, 
“ Richard, by the grace of God, I invest thee 
with the ducal, mantle of Normandy ! ” 

Two of the Bishops then hung round his 
shoulders a crimson velvet mantle, furreji with 
ermine, which, made as it was for a grown man, 
hung heavily on the poor child’s shoulders, and 
lay in heaps on the ground. The Archbishop 
then set the golden coronet on his long, flowing 
hair, where it hung so loosely on the little head, 
that Sir Eric was obliged to put his hand to 
it to hold it safe; and, lastly, the long, straight, 
two-handed sword was brought and placed in 
his hand, with another solemn bidding to use 
it ever in maintaining the right. It should have 


48 


The Little Duke. 


been girded to his side, but the great sword was 
so much taller than the little Duke, that, as it 
stood upright by him, he was obliged to raise 
his arm to put it round the handle. 

He then had to return to his throne, which 
was not done without some difficulty, encum¬ 
bered as he was, but Osmond held up the train 
of his mantle, Sir Eric kept the coronet on his 
head, and he himself held fast and lovingly the 
sword, though the Count of Hercourt offered to 
carry it for him. He was lifted up to his throne, 
and then came the paying him homage; Alan, 
Duke of Brittany, was the first to kneel before 
him, and with his hand between those of the 
Duke, he swore to be his man, to obey him, 
and pay him feudal service for his dukedom of 
Brittany. In return, Richard swore to be his 
good Lord, and to protect him from all his 
foes. Then followed Bernard the Dane, and 
many another, each repeating the same formu¬ 
lary, as their large rugged hands were clasped 
within those little soft fingers. Many a kind 
and loving eye was bent in compassion on the 
orphan child; many a strong voice faltered with 
earnestness as it pronounced the vow, and many 
a brave stalwart heart heaved with grief for the 



THE OATH OF THE VASSALS. 












































































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The Coronation. 


51 


murdered father, and tears flowed down the war¬ 
worn cheeks which had met the fiercest storms 
of the northern ocean, as they bent before the 
young fatherless boy, whom they loved for the 
sake of his conquering grandfather, and his brave 
and pious father. Few Normans were there whose 
hearts did not glow at the touch of those small 
hands, with the love almost of a parent, for their 
young Duke. 

The ceremonj* of receiving homage lasted long, 
and Richard, though interested and touched at 
first, grew very weary; the crown and mantle 
were so heavy, the faces succeeded each other 
like figures in an endless dream, and the con¬ 
stant repetition of the same words was very 
tedious. He grew sleepy, he longed to jump 
up, to lean to the right or left, or to speak 
something besides that regular form. He gave 
one great yawn, but it brought such a frown 
from the stern face of Bernard, as quite to wake 
him for a few minutes, and make him sit upright, 
and receive the next vassal with as much atten¬ 
tion as he had shown the first, but he looked 
imploringly at Sir Eric, as if to ask if it ever 
would be over. At last, far down among the 
Barons, came one at whose sight Richard re- 


52 


The Little Duke. 


vived a little. It was a boy only a few years 
older than himself, perhaps about ten, with a 
pleasant brown face, black hair, and quick black 
eyes which glanced, with a look between friend¬ 
liness and respect, up into the little Duke’s gazing 
face. Richard listened eagerly for his name, and 
was refreshed at the sound of the boyish voice 
which pronounced, “ I, Alberic de Montdmar, am 
thy liegeman and vassal for my castle and barony 
of Mont&nar sur Epte.” 

When Alberic moved away, Richard followed 
him with his eye as far he could to his place 
in the Cathedral, and was taken by surprise 
when he found the next Baron kneeling before 
him. 

The ceremony of homage came to an end at 
last, and Richard would fain have run all the 
way to the palace to shake off his weariness, 
but he was obliged to head the procession again ; 
but even when he reached the castle hall his toils 
were not over, for there was a great state banquet 
spread out, and he had to sit in the high chair 
where he remembered climbing on his father’s 
knee last Christmas-day, all the time that the 
Barons feasted round, and held grave converse. 
Richard’s best comfort all this time was in 


The Coronation. 


53 


watching Osmond de Centeville and Alberic de 
Montdmar, who, with the other youths who were 
not yet knighted, were waiting on those who sat 
at the table. At last he grew so very weary, 
that he fell fast asleep in the corner of his 
chair, and did not wake till he was startled by 
the rough voice of Bernard de Harcourt, calling 
him to rouse up, and bid the Duke of Brittany 
farewell. 

“Poor child!” said Duke Alan, as Richard 
rose up, startled, “ he is over-wearied with this 
day’s work. Take care of him, Count Bernard; 
thou art a kindly nurse, but a rough one for 
such a babe. Ha! my young Lord, j^our color 
mantles at being called a babe! I crave your 
pardon, for you are a fine spirit. And hark 
you, Lord Richard of Normandy, I have little 
cause to love your race, and little right, I trow, 
had King Charles the Simple to call us free 
Bretons liegemen to a race of plundering 
Northern pirates. To Duke Rollo’s might, my 
father never gave his homage; nay, nor did I 
yield it for all Duke William’s long sword, but 
I did pay it to his generosity and forbearance, 
and now I grant it to thy weakness, and to his 
noble memory. I doubt not that the recreant 


54 


The Little Duke . 


Frank, Louis, whom he restored to his throne, 
will strive to profit by thy youth and helpless¬ 
ness, and should that be, remember that thou 
hast no surer friend than Alan of Brittany. Fare 
thee well, my young Duke.” 

“ Farewell, Sir,” said Richard, willingly giving 
his hand to be shaken by his kind vassal, and 
watching him as Sir Eric attended him from the 
hall. 

“Fair words, but I trust not the Breton,” 
muttered Bernard; “ hatred is deeply ingrained 
in them.” 

“ He should know what the Frank King is 
made of,” said Rainulf de Ferrieres; “he was 
bred up with him in the . da} r s that they were 
both exiles at the court of King Ethelstane of 
England.” 

“ Ay, and thanks to Duke William that either 
Louis or Alan are not exiles still. Now we shall 
see whose gratitude is worth most, the Frank’s 
or the Breton’s. I suspect the Norman valor 
will be the best to trust to.” 

“ Yes, and how will Norman valor prosper 
without treasure ? Who knows what gold is in 
the Duke’s coffers?” 

There, was some consultation here in a low 


The Coronation. 


55 


voice, and the next thing Richard heard dis¬ 
tinctly was, that one of the Nobles held up .a 
silver chain and key 9 , saying that they had been 
found on the Duke’s neck, and that he had kept 
them, thinking that they doubtless led to some¬ 
thing of importance. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” said Richard, eagerly, “ I know 
it. He told me it was the key to his greatest 
treasure.” 

The Normans heard this with great interest, 
and it was resolved that several of the most 
trusted persons, among whom were the Arch¬ 
bishop of Rouen, Abbot Martin of Jumi^ges, 
and the Count of Harcourt, should go imme¬ 
diately in search of this precious hoard. Richard 
accompanied them up the narrow rough stone 
stairs, to the large dark apartment, where his 
father had slept. Though a Prince’s chamber, 
it had little furniture; a low uncurtained bed, 
a Cross on a ledge near its head, a rude table, 
a few chairs, and two large chests, were all it 
contained. Harcourt tried the lid of one of 
the chests: it opened, and proved to be full of 
wearing apparel; he went to the other, which 
was smaller, much more carved, and ornamented 
with very handsome iron-work. It was locked, 


56 


The Little Luke. 


and putting in the key, it fitted, the lock turned, 
and the chest was opened. The Normans pressed 
eagerly to see their Duke’s greatest treasure. 

It was a robe of serge, and a pair of sandals, 
such as were worn in the Abbey of Jumieges. 

“ Ha ! is this all ? What didst say, child ? ” 
cried Bernard the Dane, hastily. 

“ He told me it was his greatest treasure! ” 
repeated Richard. 

“ And it was! ” said Abbot Martin. 

Then the good Abbot told them the history, 
part of which was already known to some of 
them. About five or six years before, Duke 
William had been hunting in the forest of 
Jumieges, when he had suddenly come on the 
ruins of the Abbey, which had been wasted 
thirty or forty years previously by the Sea- 
King, Hasting. Two old monks, of the original 
brotherhood, still survived, and came forth to 
greet the Duke, and offer him their hospitality. 

“Ay!” said Bernard, “well do I remember 
their bread; we asked if it was made of fir- 
bark, like that of our brethren of Norway.” 

William, then an eager thoughtless young man, 
turned with disgust from this wretched fare, and 
throwing the old men some gold, galloped on to 


The Coronation. 


57 


enjoy his hunting. In the course of the sport, 
he was left alone, and encountered a wild boar, 
which threw him down, trampled on him, and 
left him stretched senseless on the ground, se¬ 
verely injured. His companions coming up, 
carried him, as the nearest place of shelter, to 
the ruins of Jumidges, where the two old monks 
gladly received him in the remaining portion of 
their house. As soon as he recovered his senses, 
he earnestly asked their pardon for his pride, and 
the scorn he had shown to the poverty and patient 
suffering which he should have reverenced. 

William had always been a man who chose 
the good and refused the evil, but this accident, 
and the long illness that followed it, made him 
far more thoughtful and serious than he had ever 
been before ; he made preparing for death and 
eternity his first object,«and thought less of his 
worldly affairs, his wars, and his ducal state. 
He rebuilt the old Abbey, endowed it richly, 
and sent for Martin himself from France, to 
become the Abbot; he delighted in nothing 
so much as praying there, conversing with the 
Abbot, and hearing him read holy books; and 
he felt his temporal affairs, and the state and 
splendor of his rank, so great a temptation, 


58 


The Little Duke. 


that he had one day come to the Abbot, and 
entreated to be allowed to lay them aside, and 
become a brother of the order. But Martin 
had refused to receive his vows. He had told 
him that he had no right to neglect or for¬ 
sake the duties of the station which God had 
appointed him; that it would be a sin to leave 
the post which had been given him to defend; 
and that the way marked out for him to serve 
God was by doing justice among his people, 
and using his power to defend the right. Not 
till he had done his allotted work, and his son 
was old enough to take his place as ruler of 
the Normans, might he cease from his active 
duties, quit the turmoil of the world, and seek 
the repose of the cloister. It was in this hope 
of peaceful retirement, that William had delighted 
to treasure up the humble garments that he hoped 
one day to wear in peace and holiness. 

“ And oh! my noble Duke ! ” exclaimed Abbot 
Martin, bursting into tears, as he finished his 
narration, “the Lord hath been very gracious 
unto thee ! He has taken thee home to thy rest, 
long before thou didst dare to hope for it.” 

Slowly, and with subdued feelings, the Norman 
Barons left the chamber; Richard, whom they 


The Coronation . 


59 


seemed to have almost forgotten, wandered to 
the stairs, to find his way to the room where he 
had slept last night. He had not made many 
steps before he heard Osmond’s voice, say, 44 Here, 
my Lord; ” he looked up, saw a white cap at a 
doorway a little above him, he bounded up and 
flew into Dame Astrida’s outstretched arms. 

How glad he was to sit in her lap, and lay his 
wearied head on her bosom, while, with a worn- 
out voice, he exclaimed, 44 Oh, Fru Astrida! 1 

am very, very tired of being Duke of Nor¬ 
mandy ! ” 


CHAPTER IV. 


ALBERIC DE MONTEMAR. 

R ICHARD of Normandy was very anxious 
to know more of the little boy whom he 
had seen among his vassals. 

“ Ah! the young Baron de Montdmar,” said 
Sir Eric. “ I knew his father well, and a brave 
man he was, though not of northern blood. He 
was warden of the marches of the Epte, and was 
killed by your father’s side in the inroad of the 
discount du Cotentin, 10 at the time when you 
were born, Lord Richard.” 

“But where does he live? Shall I not see 
him again ? ” 

“ Montdmar is on the bank of the Epte, in 
the domain that the French wrongfully claim 
from us. He lives there with his mother, and 
60 


Alberic de MontSmar. 


61 


if he be not yet returned, you shall see him pres¬ 
ently. Osmond, go you and seek out the lodg¬ 
ings of the young Mont^mar, and tell him the 
Duke would see him.” 

Richard had never had a playfellow of his 
own age, and his eagerness to see Alberic de 
Montdmar was great. He watched from the 
window, and at length beheld Osmond entering 
the court with a boy of ten years old by his side, 
and an old grey-headed Squire, wfth a golden 
chain to mark him as a Seneschal or Steward of 
the Castle, walking behind. 

Richard ran to the door to meet them, holding 
out his hand eagerly. Alberic uncovered his 
bright dark hair, bowed low and gracefully, but 
stood as if he did not exactly know what to do 
next. Richard grew shy at the same moment, 
and the two boys stood looking at each other 
somewhat awkwardly. It was easy to see that 
they were of different races, so unlike were the 
blue e}'es, flaxen hair, and fair face of the young 
Duke, to the black flashing eyes and olive cheek 
of his French vassal, who, though two years 
older, was scarcely above him in height; and his 
slight figure, well-proportioned, active and agile 
as it was, did not give the same promise of 


62 


The Little Luke. 


strength as the round limbs and large-boned frame 
of Richard, which even now seemed likely to 
rival the gigantic stature of his grandfather, Earl 
Rollo, the Ganger. 

For some minutes the little Duke and the 
young Baron stood surveying each other without 
a word, and old Sir Eric did not improve matters 
b} r saying, “Well, Lord Duke, here he is. Have 
you no better greeting for him ? ” 

“ The children are shame-faced,” said Fru 
Astrida, seeing how they both colored. “ Is your 
Lady mother in good health, my young sir ? ” 
Alberic blushed more deeply, bowed to the 
old northern lady, and answered fast and low 
in French, u I cannot speak the Norman tongue.” 

Richard, glad to say something, interpreted 
Fru Astrida’s speech, and Alberic readily made 
courteous reply that his mother was well, and 
he thanked the Dame de Centeville, a French 
title which sounded new to Fru Astrida’s ears. 

Then came the embarrassment again, and Fru 
Astrida at last said, u Take him out, Lord 
Richard ; take him to see the horses in the 
stables, or the hounds, or what not.” 

Richard was not sorry to obey, so out they 
went into the court of Rollo’s tower, and in the 


Alberic de MontSmar. 


68 


open air the shyness went off. Richard showed 
his own pony, and Alberic asked if he could leap 
into the saddle without putting his foot in the 
stirrup. No, Richard could not; indeed, even 
Osmond had never seen it done, for the feats of 
French chivalry had scarcely yet spread into 
Normandy. 

44 Can you ? ” said Richard, 44 will you show 
us?” 

44 1 know I can with my own pony,” said 
Alberic, 44 for Bertrand will not let me mount 
in any other way; but I will try with yours, if 
you desire it, my Lord.” 

So the pony was led out. Alberic laid one 
hand on its mane, and vaulted on its back in a 
moment. Both Osmond and Richard broke out 
loudly into admiration. 44 Oh, this is nothing ! ” 
said Alberic, 44 Bertrand says it is nothing. Be¬ 
fore he grew old and stiff he could spring into 
the saddle in this manner fully armed. I ought 
to do this much better.” 

Richard begged to be shown how to perform 
the exploit, and Alberic repeated it; then 
Richard wanted to try, but the pony’s patience 
would not endure any longer, and Alberic said 
he had learnt on a block of wood, and practised 


64 


The Little Duke.- 


on the great wolf-hound. They wandered about 
a little longer in the court, and then climbed 
up the spiral stone stairs to the battlements at 
the top of the tower, where they looked at the 
house-tops of Rouen close beneath, and the 
river Seine, broadening and glittering on one 
side in its course to the sea, and on the other 
narrowing to a blue ribbon, winding through 
the green expanse of fertile Normandy. They 
threw the pebbles and bits of mortar down 
that they might hear them fall, and tried which 
could stand nearest to the edge of the battle¬ 
ment without being giddy. Richard was pleased 
to find that he could go the nearest, and began 
to tell some of Fru Astrida’s stories about the 
precipices of Norway, among which when she 
was a young girl she used to climb about and 
tend the cattle in the long light summer time. 
When the two boys came down again into the 
hall to dinner, they felt as if they had known 
each other all their lives. The dinner was laid 
out in full state, and Richard had as before, to 
sit in the great throne-like chair, with the old 
Count of Harcourt on one side, but, to his 
comfort, Fru Astrida was on the other. 

After the dinner, Alberic de Mont^mar rose 


Alberic de MontSmar . 


65 


to take his leave, as he was to ride half way to 
his home that afternoon. Count Bernard, who 
all dinner time had been watching him intently 
from under his shaggy eyebrows, at this moment 
turned to Richard, whom he hardly ever ad¬ 
dressed, and said to him ; “ Hark ye, my Lord 
what should you say to have him yonder for 
a comrade ? ” 

“ To stay with me ? ” cried Richard eagerly. 
“ Oh, thanks, Sir Count; and may he stay ? ” 

“ You are Lord here.” 

“ Oh, Alberic ! ” cried Richard, jumping out 
of his chair of state, and running up to him, 
“ will you not stay with me, and be my brother 
and comrade ? ” 

Alberic looked down hesitating. 

“ Oh, say that you will! I will give you horses, 
and hawks, and hounds, and I will love you — 
almost as well as Osmond. Oh, stay with me, 
Alberic.” 

“ I must obey you, my Lord,” said Alberic, 
“ but—” 

“ Come, young Frenchman, out with it,” said 
Bernard,—“ no more buts ! Speak honestly, and 
at once, like a Norman, if you can.” 

This rough speech seemed to restore the little 


66 


The Little Duke. 


Baron’s self-possession, and he looked up bright 
and bold at the rugged face of the old Dane, 
while he said “ I had rather not stay here.” 

“ Ha ! not to do service to your Lord ? ” 

“ I would serve him with all my heart, but I 
do not want to stay here. I love the Castle 
of Mont^mar better, and my mother has no 
one but me.” 

“ Brave and true, Sir Frenchman,” said the 
old Count, laying his great hand on Alberic’s 
head, and looking better pleased than Richard 
thought his grim features could have appeared. 
Then turning to Bertrand, Alberic’s Seneschal, 
he said, “ Bear the Count de Harcourt’s greetings 
to the noble Dame de Montemar, and say to her 
that her son is of a free bold spirit, and if she 
would have him bred up with my Lord Duke, 
as his comrade and brother in arms, he will 
find a ready welcome.” 

“So, Alberic, you will come back, perhaps?” 
said Richard. 

“ That must be as my mother pleases,” 
answered Alberic bluntly, and with all due 
civilities he and his Seneschal departed. 

Four or five times a day did Richard ask 
Osmond and Fru Astrida if they thought 


Alberic de MontSmar. 


67 


Alberic would return, and it was a great satis¬ 
faction to him to find that every one agreed 
that it would be very foolish in the Dame de 
Montdmar to refuse so good an offer, only Fru 
Astrida could not quite believe she would part 
with her son. Still no Baron de Montemar 
arrived, and the little Duke was beginning to 
think less about his hopes, when one evening, 
as he was returning from a ride with Sir Eric 
and Osmond, he saw four horsemen coming 
towards them, and a little boy in front. 

“It is Alberic himself, I am sure of it!” he 
exclaimed, and so it proved; and while the 
Seneschal delivered his Lady’s message to Sir 
Eric, Richard rode up and greeted the welcome 
guest. 

“ Oh, I am very glad your mother has sent 
you ! ” 

“ She said she was not fit to bring up a young 
warrior of the marches,” said Alberic. 

“ Were you very sorry to come ? ” 

I dare say I shall not mind it soon ? and 
Bertrand is to come and fetch me home to visit 
her every three months, if you will let me go, 
my Lord.” 

Richard was extremely delighted, and thought 


68 


The Little Duke. 


he could never do enough to make Rouen 
pleasant to Alberic, who after the first day or 
two, cheered up, missed his mother less, managed 
to talk something between French and Norman 
to Sir Eric and Fru Astrida, and became a very 
animated companion and friend. In one respect 
Alberic was a better playfellow for the Duke 
than Osmond de Centeville, for Osmond, playing 
as a grown-up man, not for his own amusement, 
but the child’s, had left all the advantages of 
the game to Richard, who was growing not a 
little inclined to domineer. This Alberic did 
not like, unless, as he said, “ it was to be always 
Lord and vassal, and then he did not care for 
the game,” and he played with so little animation 
that Richard grew vexed. 

“ I can’t help it,” said Alberic; “ if you take 
all the best chances to yourself, ’tis no sport 
for me. I will do your bidding, as you are the 
Duke, but I cannot like it.” 

“Never'mind my being Duke, but play as we 
used to do.” 

“Then let us play as I did with Bertrand’s 
sons at Montdmar. I was their Baron, as you 
are my Duke, but my mother said there would 
be no sport unless we forgot all that at play.” 


Alberie de Montemar. 


69 


“ Then so we will. Come, begin again, Alberie, 
and you shall have the first turn.” 

However, Alberie was quite as courteous and 
respectful to the Duke when they were not at 
play, as the difference of their rank required; 
indeed, he had learnt much more of grace and 
courtliness of demeanor from his mother, a 
Provencal lady, than was yet to be found among 
the Normans. The Chaplain of Montemar had 
begun to teach him to read and write, and he 
liked learning much better than Richard, who 
would not have gone on with Father Lucas’s 
lessons at all, if Abbot Martin of Jumi^ges 
had not put him in mind that it had been his 
father’s special desire. 

What Richard most disliked was, however, the 
being obliged to sit in council. The Count of 
Harcourt did in truth govern the dukedom, but 
nothing could be done without the Duke’s con¬ 
sent, and once a'week at least, there was held 
in the great hall of Rollo’s tower, what was 
called a Parlement , or “ a talkation,” where 
Count Bernard, the Archbishop, the Baron de 
Centeville, the Abbot of JumhSges, and 'such 
other Bishops, Nobles, or Abbots, as might 
chance to be at Rouen, consulted on the affairs 


70 


The Little Luke. 


of Normandy ; and there the little Duke always 
was forced to be present, sitting up in his chair 
of State, and hearing rather than listening to, 
questions about the repairing and guarding of 
Castles, the asking of loans from the vassals, 
the appeals from the Barons of the Exchequer, 
who were then Nobles sent through the duchy 
to administer justice, and the discussions about 
the proceedings of his neighbors, King Louis 
of France, Count Foulques of Anjou, and Count 
Herluin of Montreuil, and how far the friendship 
of Hugh of Paris, and Alan of Brittany might 
be trusted. 

Very tired of all this did Richard grow, es¬ 
pecially when he found that the Normans had 
made up their minds not to attempt a war 
against the wicked Count of Flanders. He 
sighed most wearily ; yawned again and again, 
and moved restlessly about in his chair; but 
whenever Count Bernard saw him doing so, he 
received so severe a look and sign that he grew 
perfectly to dread the eye of the fierce old Dane. 
Bernard never spoke to him to praise him, or to 
enter into any of his pursuits; he only treated 
him with the grave distant respect due to him 
as a Prince, or else now and then spoke a few 


Alberic de MontSmar . 


71 


stern words to him of reproof for this rest¬ 
lessness, or for some other childish folly. 

Used as Richard was to be petted and made 
much of by the whole house of Centeville, he 
resented this considerably in secret, disliked and 
feared the old Count, and more than once told 
Alberic de Montdmar, that as soon as he was 
fourteen, when he would be declared of age, 
he should send Count Bernard to take care of 
his own Castle of Harcourt, instead of letting 
him sit gloomy and grim in the Castle hall in 
the evening, spoiling all their sport. 

Winter had set in, and Osmond used daily to 
take the little Duke and Alberic to the nearest 
sheet of ice, for the Normans still prided them¬ 
selves on excelling in skating, though they had 
long since left the frost-bound streams and lakes 
of Norway. 

One day, as they were returning from the ice, 
they were surprised, even before the}' entered the 
Castle court, by hearing the trampling of horses’ 
feet, and a sound of voices. 

“ What may this mean ? ” said Osmond 
“ There must surely be a great arrival of the 
vassals. The Duke of Brittany, perhaps.” 

“ Oh,” said Richard, piteously, “ we have had 


72 


The Little Duke. 


one council already this week. I hope another 
is not coining ! ” 

“ It must import something extraordinary,” 
proceeded Osmond. • “It is a mischance that 
the Count of Harcourt is not at Rouen just 
now.” 

Richard thought this no mischance at all, 
and just then, Alberic, who had run on a little 
before, came back exclaiming, “ They are French. 
It is the Frank tongue, not the Norman, that 
they speak.” 

“ So please you, my Lord,” said Osmond, stop¬ 
ping short, “ we go not rashly into the midst of 
them. I would I knew what were best to do.” 

Osmond rubbed his forehead and stood consid¬ 
ering, while the two boys looked at him anxiously. 
In a few seconds, before he had come to any 
conclusion, there came forth from the gate a 
Norman Squire, accompanied by two strangers. 

“ My Lord Duke,” said he to Richard, in 
French, “ Sir Eric has sent me to bring you 
tidings that the King of France has arrived to 
receive your homage.” 

“The King!” exclaimed Osmond. 

“ Ay! ” proceeded the Norman, in his own 
tongue, “ Louis himself, and with a train look- 


Alberic de MontSmar. 


73 


ing bent on mischief. I wish it may portend 
good to my Lord here. You see I am accompa¬ 
nied. I believe from my heart that Louis 
meant to prevent you from receiving a warn¬ 
ing, and taking the boy out of his clutches.” 

“ Ha ! what?” said Richard, anxiously. u Why 
is the King come? What must I do?” 

“ Go on now, since there is no help for it,” 
said Osmond. 

“ Greet the king as becomes you, bend the 
knee, and pay him homage.” 

Richard repeated over to himself the form of 
homage that he might be perfect in it, and walked 
on into the court; Alberic, Osmond, and the 
rest falling back as he entered. The court was 
crowded with horses and men, and it was only 
by calling out loudly, “The Duke, the Duke,” 
that Osmond could get space enough made for 
them to pass. In a few moments Richard had 
mounted the steps and stood in the great hall. 

In the chair of state, at the upper end of the 
room, sat a small spare man, of about eight or 
nine-and-twenty, pale, and of a light complexion, 
with a rich dress of blue and gold. Sir Eric 
and several other persons stood respectfully 
round him, and he was conversing with the 


74 


The Little Duke . 


Archbishop, who, as well as Sir Eric, cast sev¬ 
eral anxious glances at the little Duke as he 
advanced up the hall. He came up to the King, 
put his knee to the ground, and was just begin¬ 
ning, “ Louis, King of France, I-” when he 

found himself suddenty lifted from the ground 
in the King’s arms, and kissed on both cheeks. 
Then sitting him on his knee, the King ex¬ 
claimed, “And is this the son of my brave and 
noble friend, Duke William ? Ah! I should 
have known it from his likeness. Let me em¬ 
brace you again, dear child, for your father’s 
sake.” 

Richard was rather overwhelmed, but he 
thought the King very kind, especially when 
Louis began to admire his height and free- 
spirited bearing, and to lament that his own sons, 
Lothaire and Carloman, were so much smaller 
and . more backward. He caressed Richard again 
and again, praised every word he said — Fru As- 
trida was nothing to him; and Richard began 
to say to himself how strange and unkind it 
was of Bernard de Harcourt to like to find fault 
with him, when, on the contrary, he deserved all 
this praise from the King himself. 




LOUIS OF FRANCE AND THE LITTLE DUKE 




























































CHAPTER Y. 


THE KING AND THE DUKE. 

UKE Richard of Normandy slept in the 



room which had been his father’s; Alberic 
de Montdmar, as his page, slept at his feet, 
and Osmond de Centeville had a bed on the 
floor, across the door, where he lay with his 
sword close at hand, as his young Lord’s guard 
and protector. 

All had been asleep for some little time, when 
Osmond was startled by a slight movement of 
the door, which could not be pushed open with¬ 
out awakening him. In an instant he had 
grasped his sword, while he pressed his shoulder 
to the door to keep it close; but it was his 
father’s voice that answered him with a few 
whispered words in the Norse tongue, “It is 


77 


78 


The Little Duke. 


I, open.” He made way instantly, and old Sir 
Eric entered, treading cautiously with bare feet, 
and sat down on the bed motioning him to do 
the same, so that they might be able to speak 
lower. “ Right, Osmond,” he said. “ It is well 
to be on the alert, for peril enough is around 
him—The Frank means mischief! I know from 
a sure hand that Arnulf of Flanders was in 
council with him just before he came hither, 
with his false tongue, wiling and coaxing the 
poor child! ” 

Ungrateful traitor ! ” murmured Osmond ; 
“ Do you guess his purpose ? ” 

“Yes, surely, to carry the boy off with him, 
and so he trusts doubtless to cut off all the 
race of Rollo! I know his purpose is to bear 
off the Duke, as a ward of the Crown forsooth. 
Did you not hear him luring the child with his 
promises of friendship with the Princes ? I could 
not understand all his French words, but I saw 
it plain enough.” 

“You will never allow it?” 

“If he does, it must be across our dead bodies; 
but taken as we are by surprise, our resistance 
will little avail. The Castle is full of French, 
the hall and court swarm with them. Even if 


lilt-. 





OLD SIR ERIC ENTERED. 
















































































































































































































































































































































































































The King and the Duke. 


81 


we could draw our Normans together, we should 
not be more than a dozen men, and what could 
we do but die ? That we are ready for if it 

may not be otherwise, rather than let our 
charge be thus borne off without a pledge for 
his safety, and without the knowledge of the 
states.” 

“The king could not have come at a worse 
time,” said Osmond. 

“No, just when Bernard the Dane is absent. 
If he only knew what has befallen, he could 
raise the country, and come to the rescue.” 

“ Could we not send some one to bear the 
tidings to-night?” 

“I know not,” said Sir Eric, musingly. “The 
French have taken the keeping of the doors; 
indeed they are so thick through the Castle that 
I can hardly reach one of our men, nor could 
I spare one hand that may avail to guard the 
boy to-morrow.” 

“ Sir Eric; ” a bare little foot was heard on 
the floor, and Alberic de Mont&nar stood before 
him. “ I did not mean to listen, but I could 
not help hearing you. I cannot fight for the 
Duke yet, but I could carry a message.” 

“Flow would that be?’’said Osmond, eagerly. 


82 


The Little Duke. 


“Once out of the Castle, and in Rouen, he could 
easily find means of sending to the Count. He 
might go either to the Convent of St. Ouen, or, 
which would he better, to the trusty armorer, 
Tbibault, who would soon find man and horse 
to send after the Count.” 

“ Ha ! let me see,” said Sir Eric. “ It might 
be. But how is he to get out?” 

“I know a way,” said Alberic. “I scrambled 
down that wide buttress by the east wall last 
week, when our ball was caught in a branch of 
the ivy, and the drawbridge is down.” 

“ If Bernard knew, it would be off my mind, 
at least!” said Sir Eric. “Well, my young 
Frenchman, you may do good service.” 

“ Osmond.” whispered Alberic, as he began 
hastily to dress himself, “ only ask one thing 
of Sir Eric — never to call me young French¬ 
man again ! ” 

Sir Eric smiled, saying, “ Prove yourself Nor¬ 
man, my boy.” 

“Then,” added Osmond, “if it. were possible 
to get the Duke himself out of the castle to¬ 
morrow morning. If I could take him forth by 
the postern, and once bring him into the town, 
he would be sale. It would be only to raise 


The King and the Duke . 


83 


the burghers, or else to take refuge in the Church 
of Our Lady till the Count came up, and then 
Louis would find his prey out of his hands when 
he awoke and sought him.” 

“ That might be,” replied Sir Eric; but I 
doubt your success. The French are too eager 
to hold him fast, to let him slip out of their 
hands. You will find every door guarded.” 

“Yes, but all the French have not seen the 
Duke, and the sight of a squire and a little 
page going forth, will scarcely excite their 
suspicion.” 

“Ay, if the Duke would bear himself like a 
little page; but that you need not hope for. Be¬ 
sides, he is so taken with this King’s flatteries, 
that I doubt whether he would consent to leave 
him for the sake of Count Bernard. Poor child, 
he is like to be soon taught to know his true 
friends.” 

“ I am ready,” said Alberic, coming forward. 

The Baron de Centeville repeated his instruc¬ 
tions, and then undertook to guard the door, 
while his son saw Alberic set off on his expedi¬ 
tion. Osmond went with him softly down the 
stairs, then avoiding the hall, which was filled 
with French, they crept silently to a narrow 


84 


The Little Duke. 


window, guarded by iron bars, placed at such 
short intervals apart that only so small and slim 
a form as Alberic’s could have squeezed out be¬ 
tween them. The distance to the ground was 
not much more than twice his own height, and 
the wall was so covered with ivy, that it was 
not a very dangerous feat for an active boy, so 
that Alberic was soon safe on the ground, then 
looking up to wave his cap, he ran on along 
the side of the moat, and was soon lost to 
Osmond’s sight in the darkness. 

Osmond returned to the Duke’s chamber, and 
relieved his father’s guard, while Richard slept 
soundly on, little guessing at the plots of his 
enemies, or at the schemes of his faithful sub¬ 
jects for his protection. 

Osmond thought this all the better, for he had 
small trust in Richard’s patience and self-com¬ 
mand, and thought there was much more chance 
of getting him unnoticed out of the Castle, if 
he did not know how much depended on it, 
and how dangerous his situation was. 

When Richard awoke, he was much surprised 
at missing Alberic, but Osmond said he was gone 
into the town to Thibault the armorer, and this 
was a message on which he was so likely to be 


The King and the Duke. 


85 


employed that Richard’s suspicion was not ex¬ 
cited. All the time he was dressing he talked 
about the King, and everything he meant to show 
him that day; then, when he was ready, the first 
thing was as usual to go to attend morning mass. 

“Not by that way, to-day, my Lord,” said 
Osmond, as Richard was about to enter the great 
hall. “ It is crowded with the French who have 
been sleeping there all night; come to the pos¬ 
tern.” 

Osmond turned, as he spoke, along the pas¬ 
sage, walking fast, and not sorry that Richard 
was lingering a little, as it was safer for him 
to be first. The postern, was, as he expected, 
guarded by two tall steel-cased figures, who im¬ 
mediately held their lances across the doorway, 
saying, “None passes without warrant.” 

“ You will surely let us of the Castle attend 
to our daily business,” said Osmond. “ You will 
hardly break your fast this morning if you stop 
all communication with the town.” 

“ You must bring warrant,” repeated one of 
the men-at-arms. Osmond was beginning to say 
that he was the son of' the Seneschal of the 
Castle, when Richard came hastily up. “ What ? 
Do these men want to stop us ? ” he exclaimed 


86 


The Little Luke . 


in the imperious manner he had begun to take 
up since his accession. 44 Let us go on, sirs.” 

The men-at-arms looked at each other, and 
guarded the door more closely. Osmond saw it 
was hopeless, and only wanted to draw his young 
charge back without being recognized, but Rich¬ 
ard exclaimed loudly, 44 What means this?” 

44 The King has given orders that none should 
pass without warrant,” was Osmond’s answer. 
44 We must wait.” 

44 1 will pass ! ” said Richard, impatient at oppo¬ 
sition, to which he was little accustomed. 44 What 
mean you, Osmond? This is my Castle, and 
no one has a right to stop me. Do you hear, 
grooms? let me go. I am the Duke!” 

The sentinels bowed, but all they said was, 
44 our orders are express.” 

“I tell you I am Duke of Normandy, and I 
will go where I please in my own city! ” ex¬ 
claimed Richard, passionately pressing against 
the crossed staves of the weapons, to force his 
way between them, but he was caught and held 
fast in the powerful gauntlet of one of the men- 
at-arms. 14 Let me go, villain ! ” cried he, strug¬ 
gling with all his might. 44 Osmond, Osmond, 


The King and the Duke. 


87 


Even as he spoke Osmond had disengaged him 
from the grasp of the Frenchman, and putting 
his hand on his arm, said: 

“ Nay, my Lord, it is not for you to strive 
with such as these.” 

“I will strive!” cried the boy. “I will not 
have m}^ way barred in my own Castle. I will 
tell the King how these rogues of his use me. 
I will have them in the dungeon. Sir Eric! 
where is Sir Eric?” 

Away he rushed to the stairs, Osmond hurry¬ 
ing after him, lest he should throw himself into 
some fresh danger, or by his loud calls, attract 
the French, who might then easily make him 
prisoner. However, on the very first step of the 
stairs stood Sir Eric, who was too anxious for 
the success of the attempt to escape, to be very 
far off. Richard, too angry to heed where he 
was going, dashed up against him without seeing 
him, and as the old Baron took hold of him, 
began : 

“ Sir Eric, Sir Eric, those French are villains I 
they will not let me pass — ” 

“ Hush, hush, my Lord,” said Sir Eric. “ Si¬ 
lence ! come here.” 

However imperious with others, Richard from 


88 


The Little Duke . 


force of habit always obe}^ed Sir Eric, and now 
allowed himself to be dragged hastily and silently 
by him. Osmond following closety, up the stairs 
up a second and a third winding flight, still nar¬ 
rower, and with broken steps, to a small round 
thick-walled turret chamber, with an extremely 
small door, and loop-holes of windows high up 
in the tower. Here, to his great surprise, he 
found Dame Astrida, kneeling and telling her 
beads, two or three of her maidens, and about 
four of the Norman Squires and men-at-arms. 

“ So you have failed, Osmond ? ” said the 
Baron. 

44 But what is all this ? How did Fru Astrida 
come up here? May I not go to the King and 
have those insolent Franks punished?” 

44 Listen to me, Lord Richard,” said Sir Eric: 
44 that smooth-spoken King whose words so 
charmed you last night is an ungrateful de¬ 
ceiver. The Franks have always hated and 
feared the Normans, and not being able to 
conquer us fairly, they now take to foul means. 
Louis came hither from Flanders, he has brought 
this great troop of French to surprise us, claim 
you as a ward of the crown, and carry you away 
with him to some prison of his own.” 


The King and the Duke , 


89 


“ You will not let me go,” said Richard. 

“Not while I live,” said Sir Eric. “ Alberic 
is gone to warn the Count of Harcourt, to call 
the Normans together, and here we are ready 
to defend this chamber to our last breath, but 
we are few, the French are many, and succor 
may be far off.” 

“Then you meant to have taken me out of 
their reach this morning, Osmond?’ 

“Yes, my Lord.” 

“And if I had not flown into a passion and 
told who I was, I might have been safe! O 
Sir Eric! Sir Eric! you will not let me be 
carried off to a French prison! ” 

“ Here, my child,” said Dame Astrida, holding 
out her arms, “ Sir Eric will do all he can for 
you, but we are in God’s hands! ” 

Richard came and leant against her. “ I wish 
I had not been in a passion ! ” said he, sadly, 
after a silence, then looking at her in wonder. 
“But how came you up all this way?” 

“ It is a long way for my old limbs,” said Fru 
Astrida, smiling, “ birt my son helped me, and 
he deems it the only safe place in the Castle.” 

“ The safest,” said Sir Eric, “ and that is not 
saying much for it.” 


90 


The Little Luke, 


“ Hark! ” said Osmond, “ what a tramping 
the Franks are making. They are beginning 
to wonder where the Duke is.” 

“ To the stairs, Osmond,” said Sir Eric. “ On 
that narrow step one man may keep them at 
bay a long time. You can speak their jargon 
too, and hold parley with them.” 

“Perhaps they will think I am gone,” whis¬ 
pered Richard, “ if they cannot find me, and 
go away.” 

Osmond and two of the Normans were, as he 
spoke, taking their stand on the narrow spiral 
stair, where there was just room for one man 
on the step. Osmond was the lowest, the other 
two above him, and it would have been very hard 
for an enemy to force his way past them. 

Osmond could plainly hear the sounds of the 
steps and voices of the French as they consulted 
together, and sought for the Duke. A man at 
length was heard clanking up these very stairs, 
till winding round, he suddenly found himself 
close upon young de Centeville. 

“ Ha ! Norman! ” he cried, starting back in 
amazement, “what are you doing here?” 

“ My duty,” answered Osmond, shortly. “ I 


The King and the Duke. 


91 


am here to guard this stair; ” and his drawn 
sword expressed the same intention. 

The Frenchman drew back, and presently a 
voice came up the stairs, saying, “ Norman — 
whispering below was heard and soon after a 
good Norman — ” 

“What would you say?’’replied Osmond, and 
the head of another Frank appeared. 

“ What means all this, my friend ? ” was the 
address. “ Our King comes as a guest to you, 
and you received him last evening as loyal vassals. 
Wherefore have you now drawn out of the way, 
and striven to bear off your young Duke into 
secret places ? Truly it looks ^not well that you 
should thus strive to keep him apart, and there¬ 
fore the King requires to see him instantly.” 

“ Sir Frenchman,” replied Osmond, “ your King 
claims the Duke as his ward. How that may be 
my father knows not, but as he was committed 
to his charge by the states of Normandy, he 
holds himself bound to keep him in his own 
hands until further orders from them.” 

“ That means, insolent Norman, that you intend 
to shut the boy up and keep him in your own 
rebel hands. You had best yield — it will be 
the better for you and for him. The child is 


92 


The Little Duke. 


the King’s ward, and he shall not be left to be 
nurtured in rebellion by northern pirates.” 

At this moment a cry from without arose, 
so loud as almost to drown the voices of the 
speakers on the turret stair, a cry welcome to 
the ears of Osmond, repeated by a multitude of 
voices, “ Haro! Haro ! our little Duke ! V 

It was well known as a Norman shout. So 
just and so ready to redress all grievances had 
the old Duke Rollo been, that his very name 
was an appeal against injustice, and whenever 
wrong was done, the Norman outcry against 
the injury was always “ Ha Rollo! ” or as it 
had become shortened, “Haro.” And now 
Osmond knew that those, whose affection had 
been won by the uprightness of Rollo, were 
gathering to protect his helpless grandchild. 

The cry was likewise heard by the little gar¬ 
rison in the turret chamber, bringing hope and 
joy. Richard thought himself already rescued, 
and springing from Fru Astrida, danced about 
in ecstasy, only longing to see the faithful 
Normans, whose voices he heard ringing out 
again and again, in calls for their little Duke, 
and outcries against the Franks. The windows 
were, however, so high, that nothing could be 


The King and the Duke. 


93 


seen from them but the sky; and, like Richard, 
the old Baron de Centeville was almost beside 
himself with anxiety to know what force was 
gathered together, and what measures were being 
taken. He opened the door, called to his son, 
and asked if he could tell what was passing, but 
Osmond knew as little — he could see nothing 
but the black, cobwebbed, dusty steps winding 
above his head, while the clamors outside, 
waxing fiercer and louder, drowned all the 
sounds which might otherwise have come up 
to him from the French within the Castle. At 
last, however, Osmond called out to his father, 
iu Norse, “There is a Frank Baron come to 
entreat, and this time very humbly, that the 
Duke may come to the King.” 

“ Tell him,” replied Sir Eric, “ that save with 
consent of the council of Normandy, the child 
leaves not my hands.” 

“ He says,” called back Osmond, after a 
moment, “that you shall guard him yourself, 
with as many as you choose to bring with you. 
He declares on the faith of a free Baron, that 
the King has no thought of ill — he wants to 
show him to the Rouennais without, who are 
calling for him, and threatening to tear down the 


94 


The Little Duke. 


tower rather than not see their little Duke. 
Shall I bid him send a hostage ? ” 

“ Answer him,” returned the Baron, “ that 
the Duke leaves not this chamber unless a 
pledge is put into our hands for his safety. 
There was an oily-tongued Count, who sat next 
the King at supper — let him come hither, 
and then perchance I may trust the Duke 
among them.” 

Osmond gave the desired reply, which was 
carried to the King. Meantime the uproar 
outside grew louder than ever, and there were 
new sounds, a horn was winded, and there 
was a shout of “Dieu aide!” the Norman 
war-cry, joined with “Notre Dame de Har- 
court! ” 

“ There, there! ” cried Sir Eric, with a long 
breath, as if relieved of half his anxieties, “ the 
boy has sped well. Bernard is here at last! 
Now his head and hand are there, I doubt no 
longer.” 

“ Here comes the Count,” said Osmond, open¬ 
ing the door, and admitting a stout, burly man, 
who seemed sorely out of breath with the as¬ 
cent of the steep, broken stair, and very little 
pleased to find himself in such a situation. 


The King and the Duke. 95 

The Baron de Centeville augured well from 
the speed with which he had been sent, think¬ 
ing it proved great perplexity and distress on 
the part of Louis. Without waiting to hear 
his hostage speak, he pointed to a chest on which 
he had been sitting, and bade two of his men- 
at-arms stand on each side of the Count, saying 
at the same time to Fru Astrida, “ Now, 
mother, if aught of evil befals the child, you 
know your part. Come, Lord Richard.” 

Richard moved forward. Sir Eric held his 
hand. Osmond kept close behind him, and, 
with as many of the men-at-arms as could be 
spared from guarding Fru Astrida and her 
hostage, he descended the stairs, not by any 
means sorry to go, for he was weary of being 
besieged in that turret chamber, whence he could 
see nothing, and with those friendly cries in his 
ears, he could not be afraid. 

He was conducted to the large council-room, 
which was above the hall. There, the King was 
walking up and down anxiously, looking paler 
than his wont, and no wonder, for the uproar 
sounded tremendous there — and now and then 
a stone dashed against the sides of the deep 
window. 


96 


The Little Duke . 


Nearly at the same moment as Richard 
entered by one door, Count Bernard de Har- 
court came in from the other, and there was a 
slight lull in the tumult. 

“What means this, my Lords?” exclaimed 
the King. “ Here am I come in all good will, 
in memory of my warm friendship with Duke 
William, to take on me the care of his orphan, 
and hold council with you for avenging his death, 
and is this the greeting you afford me? You 
steal away the child, and stir up the rascaille 
of Rouen against me. Is this the reception for 
your King?” 

“ Sir King,” replied Bernard, “ What your in¬ 
tentions may be, I know not. All I do know is, 
that the burghers of Rouen are tiercel}" incensed 
against you — so much so, that they were almost 
ready to tear me to pieces for being absent at this 
junction. They say that you are keeping the 
child prisoner in his own Castle, and that they 
will have him restored, if they tear it down to 
the foundations.” 

“You are a true man, a loyal man—you un¬ 
derstand my good intentions,” said Louis, trem¬ 
bling, for the Normans were extremely dreaded. 
“ You would not bring the shame of rebellion on 


The King and the Duke. 


97 


your town and people. Advise me — 1 will do 
just as you counsel me — how shall I appease 
them?” 

* “ Take the child, lead him to the window, 
swear that you mean him no evil, that you will 
not take him from us,” said Bernard. “ Swear 
it on the faith of a King.” 

“As a King — as a Christian, it is true!” said 
Louis. “ Here, my bo}^! Wherefore shrink from 
me? What have I done, that you should fear 
me? You have been listening to evil tales of 
me, my child. Come hither.” 

At a sign from the Count de Harcourt, Sir 
Eric led Richard forward, and put his hand into 
the King’s. Louis took him to the window, 
lifted him upon the sill, and stood there with 
his arm round him, upon which the shout, 
“ Long live Richard, our little Duke! ” arose 
again. Meantime, the two Centevilles looked 
in wonder at the old Harcourt, who shook his 
head, and muttered in his own tongue, “ I will 
do all I may, but our force is small, and the 
King has the best of it. We must not yet 
bring a war on ourselves.” 

“ Hark! he is going to speak,” said Osmond. 

“ Fair Sirs ! —excellent burgesses ! ” began the 


98 


The Little Duke. 


King, as the cries lulled a little. 11 “ I rejoice to 
see i the love ye bear to our young Prince ! I 
would all my subjects were equally loyal! But 
wherefore dread me, as if I were come to injure 
him? I, who came but to take council how to 
avenge the death of his father, who brought me 
back from England when I was a friendless exile. 
Know ye not how deep is the debt of grati¬ 
tude I owe to Duke William ? He it was who 
made me King—it was he who gained me the 
love of the King of Germany; he stood god¬ 
father for my son — to him I owe all my wealth 
and state, and all my care is to render guerdon 
for it to his child, since, alas! I may not to 
himself. Duke William rests in his bloody grave ! 
It is for me to call his murderers to account, and 
to cherish his son, even as mine own! ” 

So saying, Louis tenderly embraced the little 
boy, and the Rouennais below broke out into 
another cry, in which “Long live King Louis,” 
was joined with “ Long live Richard ! ” 

“You will not let the child go?” said Eric, 
meanwhile, to Harcourt. 

“Not without provision for his safety, but 
we are not fit for war as yet, and to let him 
go is the only means of warding it off.” 


The King and the Duke. 


99 


Eric groaned and shook his head; but the 
Count de Harcount’s judgment was of such 
weight with him, that he ne^ver dreamt of dis¬ 
puting it. 

“Bring me here,” said the King, “all that 
you deem most holy, and you shall see me 
pledge myself to be your Duke’s most faithful 
friend.” 

There was some delay, during which the 
Norman Nobles had time for further council 
together, and Richard looked wistfully at them, 
wondering what was to happen to him, and 
wishing he could venture to ask for Alberic. 

Several of the Clergy of the Cathedral pres¬ 
ently appeared in procession, bringing with them 
the book of the Gospels on which Richard had 
taken his installation oath, with others of the 
sacred treasures of the Church, preserved in 
gold cases. The Priests were followed by a few 
of the Norman Knights and Nobles, some of the 
burgesses of Rouen, and, to Richard’s great joy, 
by Alberic de Montdmar himself. The two boys 
stood looking eagerly at each other, while prep¬ 
aration was made for the ceremony of the King’s 
oath. 

The stone table in the middle of the room was 


100 


The Little Luke . 


cleared, and arranged so as in some degree to re¬ 
semble the Altar in the Cathedral; then the 
Count de Harcourt, standing before it, and 
holding the King’s hand, demanded of him 
whether he would undertake to be the friend, 
protector, and good Lord of Richard, Duke of 
Normandy, guarding him from all his enemies 
and ever seeking his welfare. Louis, with his 
hand on the Gospels, 44 swore that so he would.” 

“Amen!” returned Bernard the Dane, sol¬ 
emnly, “ and as thou keepest that oath to the 
fatherless child, so may the Lord do unto thine 
house! ” 

Then followed the ceremony, which had been 
interrupted the night before, of the homage and 
oath of allegiance which Richard owed to the 
King, and, on the other hand, the King’s formal 
reception of him as a vassal, holding, under 
him, the two dukedoms of Normand and 
Brittany. “And,” said the king, raising him 
in his arms and kissing him, “ no dearer vassal 
do I hold in all my realm than this fair child, 
son of my murdered friend and benefactor — 
precious to me as my own children as soon 
my Queen and I hope to testify.” 

Richard did not much like all this embracing : 


The King and the DuJce. 


101 


but he was sure the King really meant him no 
ill, and he wondered at all the distrust the 
Centevilles had shown. 

“Now, brave Normans,” said the King, “be 
ye ready speedily, for an outset on the traitor 
Fleming. The cause of my ward is my own 
cause. Soon shall the trumpet be sounded, 
the ban and arriere ban of the realm be called 
forth, and Arnulf, in the flames of his cities, 
and the blood of his vassals, shall learn to rue 
the day when his foot trod the isle of Pec- 
quigny ! How many Normans can you bring 
to the muster, Sir Count?” 

“I cannot say, ^within a few hundred of 
lancers,” replied the old Dane, cautiously “ it 
depends on the numbers that may be engaged 
in the Italian war with the Saracens, but of 
this be sure, Sir King, that every man in Nor¬ 
mandy and Brittany who can draw a sword or 
bend a bow, will stand forth in the cause of our 
little Duke ; aye, and that his blessed father’s 
memory is held so dear in our northern home, 
that it needs but a message to King Herald 
Blue-tooth to bring a fleet of long keels into 
the Seine, with stout Danes enough to carry 
fire and sword, not merely through Flanders, 


102 


The Little JDuJce. 


but through all France. We of the North are 
not apt to forget old friendships and favors, 
Sir King.” 

“Yes, yes, I know the Norman faith of old,” 
returned Louis, uneasily, “ but we would scarcely 
need such wild allies as you propose; the Count 
of Paris, and Hubert of Senlis may be reckoned 
on, I suppose.” 

“No truer friend to Normandy than gallant 
and wise old Hugh the White! ” said Bernard, 
“and as to Senlis, he is uncle to the boy, and 
doubly bound to us.” 

“ I rejoice to see your confidence,” said Louis. 
You shall soon hear from me. In the mean 
time I must return to gather my force together, 
and summon my great vassals, and I will, with 
your leave, brave Normans, take with me my 
dear young ward. His presence will plead 
better in his cause than the finest words; more¬ 
over, he will grow up in love and friendship 
with my two boys, and shall be nurtured with 
them in all good learning and chivalry, nor 
shall he ever be reminded that he is an orphan 
while under the care of Queen Gerberge and 
myself.” 

“ Let the child come to me, so please you, my 


The King and the Duke. 


103 


Lord the King,” answered Harcourt bluntly. 
“ I must hold some converse with him, ere I can 
reply.” 

“Go then, Richard,” said Louis, “go to your 
trusty vassal — happy are you in possessing such 
a friend; I hope you know his value.” 

“ Here then, young Sir,” said the Count, in 
his native tongue, when Richard had crossed 
from the King’s side, and stood beside him, 
“ what say you to this proposal ? ” 

“ The King is very kind,” said Richard, “ I 
am sure he is kind ; but I do not like to go 
from Rouen, or, from Dame Astrida.” 

“ Listen my Lord,” said the Dane, stooping 
down and speaking low. “The King is re¬ 
solved to have you away ; he has with him the 
best of his Franks, and has so taken us at un¬ 
awares, that though I might yet rescue you 
from his hands, it would not be without a fierce 
struggle, wherein } r ou might be harmed, and this 
castle and town certainly burnt, and wrested 
from us. A few weeks or months, and we shall 
have time to draw our force together, so that 
Normandy need fear no man, and for that time 
you must tarry with him.” 

“ Must I —and all alone ? ” 


104 


The Little Duke. 


“ N o, not alone, not without the most trusty 
guardian that can be found for you. Friend 
Eric, what say you ? ” and he laid his hand on 
the old Baron’s shoulder. “Yet, I know not: 
true thou art, as a Norwegian mountain, but 
I doubt me if thy brains are not too dull to 
see through the French wiles and disguises, 
sharp as thou didst show thyself last night.” 

“ That was Osmond^not I, ” said Sir Eric. 
“ He knows their mincing tongue better than 
I. He were the best to go with the poor child 
if go he must.” 

“ Bethink you, Eric,” said the Count in an 
under tone, “ Osmond is the only hope of your 
good old house — if there is foul play, the 
guardian will be the first to suffer.” 

“ Since you think fit to peril the only hope 
of all Normandy, I am not the man to hold 
back my son where he may aid him,” said old 
Eric, sadly. “The poor child will be lonely 
and uncared for there, and it were hard he 
should not have one faithful comrade and 
friend with him.” 

“It is well,” said Bernard: “young as he is, 
I had rather trust Osmond with the child than 


The King and the Duke. 


105 


any one else, for he is ready of council, and 
quick of hand.” 

“ Aye, and a pretty pass it is come to,” 
muttered old Centeville, “ that we, whose busi¬ 
ness it is to guard the boy, should send him 
where you scarcely like to trust my son.” 

Bernard paid no further attention to him, 
but coming forward, required another oath from 
the King, that Richard should be as safe and 
free at his court as at’ Rouen, and that on no 
pretence whatsoever should he be taken from 
under the immediate care of his Esquire, 
Osmond Fitz Eric, heir of Centeville. 

After this, the King was impatient to depart, 
and all was preparation. Bernard called Os¬ 
mond aside to give full instruction on his 
conduct, and the means of communicating with 
Normandy, and Richard was taking leave of 
Fru Astrida, who had now descended from her 
turret, bringing her hostage with her. She 
wept much over her little Duke, praying that 
he might safety be restored to Normandy, even 
though she might not live to see it; she ex¬ 
horted him not to forget the good and hoty 
learning in which he had been brought up, to 
rule his temper, and, above all, to say his 


106 


The Little Duke. 


prayers constantly, never leaving out one, as 
the beads of his rosary reminded him of their 
order. As to her own grandson, anxiety for 
liin> seemed almost lost in her fears for Richard, 
and the chief things she said to him, when he 
came to take leave of her, were directions as 
to the care he was to take of the child, telling 
him the honor he now received was one which 
would make his name for ever esteemed if he 
did but fulfil his trust, the most precious that 
Norman had ever yet received. 

“ I will, grandmother, to the very best of my 
power,” said Osmond; “I may die in his cause, 
but never will I be faithless.” 

“ Alberic! ” said Richard, “ are you glad to 
be going back to Mont^mar?” 

“ Yes, my Lord,” answered Alberic, sturdily, 
“ as glad as you will be to come back to 
Rouen.” 

“ Then I shall send for you directly, Alberic, 
for I shall never love the Princes Carloman 
and Lothaire half as well as you ! ” 

“ My Lord the King is waiting for the Duke,” 
said a Frenchman, coming forward. 

“Farewell then, Fru Astrida. Do not weep, 
I shall soon come back. Farewell, Alberic. 


The King and the Duke . 


107 


Take the bar-tailed falcon back to Montdmar, 
and keep him for my sake. Farewell, Sir Eric 
— Farewell, Count Bernard. When the Nor¬ 
mans come to conquer Arnulf, you will lead 
them. O dear, dear Fru Astriaa, farewell 
again.” 

“ Farewell, my own darling. The blessing of 
Heaven go with you, and bring you safe home! 
Farewell, Osmond. Heaven guard you, and 
strengthen you to be his shield and his defence ! ” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE DEPARTURE. 


WAY from the tall narrow gateway of 



JLjl Rollo’s Tower, with the cluster of friendly 
sorrowful faces looking forth from it, away from 
the booth-like shops of Rouen, and the stout 
burghers shouting with all the power of their 
lungs, “long live Duke Richard! Long live 
King Louis ! Death to the Fleming! ” — away 
from the broad Seine — away from home and 
friends, rode the young Duke of Normandy, by 
the side of the palfrey of the King of France. 

The King took much notice of him, kept him 
by his side, talked to him, admired the beautiful 
cattle grazing in security in the green pastures, 
and, as he looked at the rich dark brown earth 
of the fields, the Castles towering above the 


The Departure . 


109 


woods, the Convents looking like great farms, 
and many villages round the rude Churches, 
and the numerous population who came out to 
gaze at the party, and repeat the cry of “Long 
live the King ! Blessings on the little Duke! ” 
he told Richard, again and again, that his was 
the most goodly duchy in France and Germany 
to boot. * 

When they crossed the Epte, the King would 
have Richard in the same boat with him, and, 
sitting close to Louis, and talking eagerly about 
falcons and hounds, the little Duke passed the 
boundary of his own dukedom. 

The country beyond was not like Normandy. 
First they came to a great forest, which seemed 
to have no path through it. The King ordered 
that one of the men, who had rowed them 
across, should be made to serve as guide, and 
two of the men-at-arms took him between them, 
and forced him to lead the way, while others, 
with their swords and battle-axes, cut down and 
cleared away the tangled branches and briars 
that nearly choked the path. All the time, 
every one was sharply on the look-out for 
robbers, and the weapons were all held ready for 
use at a moment’s notice. On getting beyond 


110 


The Little Duke. 


the forest, a Castle rose before them, and, 
though it was not yet late in the day, they 
resolved to rest there, as* a marsh lay not far 
before them, which it would not lmve been safe 
to traverse in the evening twilight. 

The Baron of the Castle received them with 
great respect to the King, but without paying 
much attention to the Duke of Normandy, and 
Richard did not find the second place left for 
him at the board. He colored violently, and 
looked first at the King, and then at Osmond, 
but Osmond held up his finger in warning; he 
remembered how he had lost his temper before, 
and what had come of it, and resolved to try 
to bear it better; and just then the Baron’s 
daughter, a gentle-looking maiden of fifteen or 
sixteen, came and spoke to him, and entertained 
him so well, that he did not think much more 
of his offended dignity. When they set off on 
their journey again, the Baron and several of 
his followers came with them to show the only 
safe way across the morass, and a very slippery, 
treacherous, quaking road it was, where the 
horses’ feet left pools of water wherever they 
trod. The King and the Baron rode together, 
and the other French Nobles closed round 


The Departure. 


Ill 


them ; Richard was left quite in the back¬ 
ground, and though the French men-at-arms 
took care not to lose sight of him, no one 
offered him any assistance, excepting Osmond, 
who, giving his own horse to Sybald, one of the 
two Norman grooms who accompanied him, led 
Richard’s horse by the bridle along the whole 
distance of the marshy path, a business that 
could scarcely have been pleasant, as Osmond 
wore his heavy hauberk, and his pointed iron- 
guarded boots sunk deep at every step into the 
bog. He spoke little, but seemed to be taking 
good heed of every stump of willow or stepping- 
stone that might serve as a note of remem¬ 
brance of the path. 

At the other end of the morass began a long 
tract of dreary-looking, heathy waste, without 
a sign of life. The Baron took leave of the 
King, only sending three men-at-arms, to show 
him the way to a monastery, which was to be 
the next halting-place. He sent three, because 
it was not safe for one, even fully armed, to ride 
alone, for fear of the attacks of the followers of 
a certain marauding Baron, who was at deadly 
feud with him, and made all that border a most 
perilous region. Richard might well observe 


112 


The Little Luke. 


that he did not like the Vexin half as well as 
Normandy, and that the people ought to learn 
Fra Astrida’s story of the golden bracelets 
which, in his grandfather’s time, had hung un¬ 
touched for a year in a tree in a forest. 

It was pretty much the same through the 
whole journey, waste lands, marshes, and forests 
alternated. The Castles stood on high mounds 
frowning on the country round, and villages were 
clustered round them, where the people either 
fled away, driving off their cattle with them at 
the first sight of an armed band, or else, if they 
remained, proved to be thin wretched-looking 
creatures, with wasted limbs, aguish faces, and 
often iron collars round their necks. Wherever 
there was anything of more prosperous appear¬ 
ance, such as a few corn-fields, vineyards on the 
slopes of the hills, fat cattle, and peasantry 
looking healthy and secure, there was sure to 
be seen a range of long low stone buildings, 
surmounted with crosses, with a short square 
Church tower rising in the midst, and inter¬ 
spersed with gnarled hoary old apple-trees, 
or with gardens of pot-herbs spreading before 
them to the meadows. If, instead of two or 
three men-at-arms from a Castle, or of some 


the castle stood on high MOUNDS. 































































































































































































































The Departure . 


115 


trembling serf pressed into the service, and 
beaten, threatened, and watched to prevent 
treachery, the King asked for a guide at a 
Convent, some lay brother would take his staff, 
or else mount an ass, and proceed in perfect 
confidence and security as to his return home¬ 
wards, sure that his poverty and his sacred 
character would alike protect him from any 
outrage from the most lawless marauder of the 
neighborhood. 

Thus they travelled until they reached the 
royal Castle of Laon, where the Fleur-de-Lys 
standard on the battlements announced the 
presence of Gerberge, Queen of France, and 
her two sons. The King rode first into the 
court with his Nobles, and before Richard could 
follow him through the narrow arched gateway, 
he had dismounted, entered the Castle, and was 
out of sight. Osmond held the Duke’s stirrup, 
and followed him up the steps which led to the 
Castle Hall. It was full of people,^but no one 
made way, and Richard, holding his Squire’s hand, 
looked up in his face, inquiring and bewil¬ 
dered. 

“ Sir Seneschal,” said Osmond, seeing a broad 
portly old man, with grey hair and a golden 


116 


The Little Duke. 


chain, “ this is the Duke of Normandy — I pray 
you conduct him to the King’s presence.” 

Richard had no longer an}^ cause to complain 
of neglect, for the Seneschal instantly made him 
a very low bow, and calling “Place — place for 
the high and mighty Prince, my Lord Duke of 
Normandy! ” ushered him up to the dais or 
raised part of the floor, where the King and 
Queen stood together talking. The Queen 
looked round, as Richard was announced, and 
he saw her face, which was sallow and with a 
sharp sour expression that did not please him, 
and he backed and looked reluctant, while 
Osmond, with a warning hand pressed on his 
shoulder, was trying to remind him that he 
ought to go forward, kneel on one knee, and 
kiss her hand. 

“ There he is,” said the King. 

“ One thing secure ! ” said the Queen ; “ but 
what makes that northern giant keep close to 
his heels ? ” 

Louis answered something in a low voice, and, 
in the meantime, Osmond tried in a whisper to 
induce his young Lord to go forward and perform 
his obeisance. 



The Departure. 


117 


“ I teil you I will not,” said Richard. “ She 
looks cross, and I do not like her.” 

Luckily he spoke his own language; but his 
look and air expressed a good deal of what he 
said, and Gerberge looked all the more un¬ 
attractive. 

“A thorough little Norwegian bear,” said the 
King; “ fierce and unruly as the rest. Come 
and perform your courtesy — do you forget where 
you are ? ” he added, sternly. 

Richard bowed, partly because Osmond forced 
down his shoulder; but he thought of old Rollo 
and Charles the Simple, and his proud heart re¬ 
solved that he would never kiss the hand of that 
sour-looking Queen. It was a determination 
made in pride and defiance, and he suffered for 
it afterwards; but no more passed now, for the 
Queen only saw in his behavior that of an 
unmannerly young Northman; and though she 
disliked and despised him, she did not care 
enough about his courtesy to insist on its being 
paid. She sat down, and so did the King, and 
they went on talking; the King probably telling 
her his adventures at Rouen, while Richard stood 
on the step of the dias, swelling with sullen pride. 

Nearly a quarter of an hour had passed in this 


118 


The Little Duke. 


manner when the servants came to set the table 
for supper, and Richard, in spite of his indig¬ 
nant looks, was forced to stand aside. He won¬ 
dered that all this time he had not seen the 
two Princes, thinking how strange he should 
have thought it, to let his own dear father be 
in the house so long without coming to welcome 
him. Afjast, just as the supper had been served 
up, a side door opened, and the Seneschal called, 
“ Place for the high and mighty Princes, my 
Lord Lothaire and my Lord Carloman! ” and in 
walked two boys, one about the same age as 
Richard, the other rather more than a year 
younger. They were both thin, pale, sharp- 
featured children, and Richard drew himself up 
to his full height, with great satisfaction at being 
so much taller than Lothaire. 

They came up ceremoniously to their father 
and kissed his hand, while he kissed their fore¬ 
heads, and then said to them: 

“ There is a new play-fellow for you.” 

“Is that the little Northman?” said Carloman, 
turning to stare at Richard, with a look of curi¬ 
osity, while Richard in his turn felt considerably 
affronted that a boy so much less than himself 
should call him little. 


The Departure. 


119 


“Yes,” said the Queen; “your father has 
brought him home with him.” 

Carloman stepped forward, shyly holding out 
his hand to the stranger, but his brother pushed 
him rudely aside. 

“ I am the eldest; it is my business to be first. 
So, young Northman, you are come here for us 
to play with.” 

Richard was too much amazed at being spoken 
to in this imperious way to make any answer. 
He was completely taken by surprise, and only 
opened his great blue eyes to their utmost extent. 

“ Ha! why don’t you answer ? Don’t you 
hear? Can you speak only your own heathen 
tongue ? ” continued Lothaire. 

“The Norman is no heathen tongue!” said 
Richard, at once breaking silence in a loud voice. 
“We are as good Christians as you are — ay, 
and better too.” 

“ Hush ! hush ! my Lord ! ” said Osmond. 

“ What now, Sir Duke,” again interfered the 
King, in an angry tone, “ are you brawling al¬ 
ready? Time, indeed, I should take you from 
your own savage court. Sir Squire, look to it 
that you keep your charge in better rule, or I 
shall send him instantly to bed, supperless.” 


120 


The Little Duke. 


“My Lord, my Lord,” whispered Osmond, 
“ see you not that you are bringing discredit on 
all of us?” 

“ I would be courteous enough, if they would 
be courteous to me,” returned Richard, gazing 
with eyes full of defiance at Lothaire, who, re¬ 
turning an angry look, had nevertheless shrunk 
back to his mother. She meanwhile was saying: 

“ So strong so rough, the young savage is, he 
will surely harm our poor boys! ” 

“ Never fear,” said Louis; he shall be watched. 
And,” he added in a lower tone, for the present 
at least, we must keep up appearances. Hubert 
of Senlis, and Hugh of Paris, have their eyes 
on us, and were the boy to be missed, the grim 
old Harcourt would have all the pirates of 
his land on us in the twinkling of an eye. We 
have him, and there we must rest content for 
the present. Now to supper.” 

At supper, Richard sat next little Carloman, 
who peeped at him every now and then from 
under his eyelashes, as if he was afraid of him; 
and presently, when there was a good deal of 
talking going on, so that his voice could not be 
heard, half-whispered, in a very grave tone: 

“Do you like salt beef or fresh?” 


The Departure. 


121 


“I like fresh,” answered Richard, with equal 
gravity, “ only we eat salt all the winter.” 

There was another silence, and then Carlo- 
man, with the same solemnity, asked: 

“ How old are you ? ” 

“ I shall be nine on the eve of St. Boniface. 
How old are you ? ” 

“ Eight. I was eight at Martinmas, and Lo¬ 
thaire was nine three days since.” 

Another silence ; then as Osmond waited on 
Richard, Carloman returned to the charge: 

“Is that your Squire?” 

“Yes, that is Osmond de Centeville.” 

“ How tall he is ! ” 

“We Normans are taller than you French.” 

“ Don’t say so to Lothaire, or you will make 
him angry.” 

“ Why ? it is true.” 

“Yes; but — ” and Carloman sunk his voice 
— there are some things which Lothaire will not 
hear said. Do not make him cross or he will 
make my mother displeased with you. She 
caused Thierry de Lincourt to be scourged, be¬ 
cause his ball hit Lothaire’s face.” 

“She cannot scourge me — I am a free Duke,” 


122 


The Little Duke . 


said Richard. “ But why ? Did he do it on 
purpose ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! ” 

“And was Lothaire hurt?” 

“Hush! you must say Prince Lothaire. No 
it was quite a soft ball.” 

“ Why? ” again asked Richard — “ why was he 
scourged ? ” 

“ I told you, because he hit Lothaire.” 

“ Well, but did he not laugh, and say it was 
nothing? Alberic quite knocked me down with 
a great snowball the other day, and Sir Eric 
laughed, and said I must stand firmer.” 

“Do you make snowballs?” 

“To be sure I do! Do not you?” 

“ Oh, no ! the snow is so cold.” 

“Ah! you are but a little boy,” said Richard, 
in a superior manner. Carlo man asked how it 
was done; and Richard gave an animated de¬ 
scription of the snowballing, a fortnight ago, at 
Rouen, when Osmond and some of the other 
3^oung men built a snow fortress, and defended it 
against Richard, Alberic, and the other Squires. 
Carloman listened with delight, and declared 
that next time it snowed, they would have 
a snow castle; and thus, b} r the time supper 


The Departure. 123 

was over, the two little boys were very good 
friends. 

Bedtime came not long after supper. Richard’s 
was a smaller room than he had been used to 
at Rouen; but it amazed him exceedingly when 
he first came to it: he stood gazing in wonder, 
because as he said, “ it was as if he had been in 
a church.” 

“ Yes, truly!” said Osmond. “No wonder 
these poor creatures of French cannot stand 
before a Norman lance, if they cannot sleep 
without glass to their windows. Well! what 
would my father say to this?” 

“ And see ! see, Osmond ! they have put hang¬ 
ings up all round the walls, just like our Ladie’s 
church on a great feast-day. They treat us just 
as if we were the holy saints; and here are fresh 
rushes strewn about the floor, too. This must 
be a mistake — it must be an oratory, instead of 
my chamber.” 

“No, no, my Lord; here is our gear, which I 
bade Sybald and Henry see bestowed in our 
chamber. Well, these Franks are come to a pass, 
indeed! My grandmother will never believe 
what we shall have to tell her. Glass windows 
and hangings to sleeping chambers ! I do not 


124 


The Little Duke. 


like it; I am sure we shall never be able to 
sleep, closed up from the free air of heaven in 
this way. I shall be always waking, and fancying 
I am in the chapel at home, hearing Father Lucas 
chanting his matins. Besides, my father would 
blame me for letting you be made as tender as 
a Frank. I’ll have out this precious window, if 
I can.” 

Luxurious as the young Norman thought the 
King, the glazing of Laon was not permanent. 
It consisted of casements, which could be put up 
or removed at pleasure; for, as the count pos¬ 
sessed only one set of glass windows, they were 
taken down, and carried from place to place, as 
often as Louis removed from Rheims to Soissons, 
Laon, or any other of his royal castles; so that 
Osmond did not find much difficulty in dis¬ 
placing them, and letting in the sharp, cold 
wintry breeze. The next thing he did was to 
give his young Lord a lecture on his want of 
courtesy, telling him that “ no wonder the Franks 
thought he had no more culture than a Viking 
(or pirate) fresh caught from Norway. A fine 
notion he was giving them of the training he had 
at Centeville, if he could not even show common 
civility to the Queen — a lady! Was that the 


The Departure . 125 

way Alberic had behaved when he came to 
Rouin?” 

“ Fru Astrida did not make sour faces at 
him, nor call him a young savage,” replied 
Richard. 

“No, and he gave her no reason to do so; he 
knew that the first teaching of a young knight 
is to be courteous to ladies — never mind whether 
fair and young, or old and foul of favor. Till 
you learn and note that, Lord Richard, you will 
never be worthy of your golden spurs.” 

“ And the King told me she would treat me as 
a mother,” exclaimed Richard. “ Do you think 
the King speaks the truth Osmond ? ” 

“That we shall see by his deeds,” said Os¬ 
mond. 

“ He was very kind while we were in Nor¬ 
mandy. I loved him so much better than the 
Count de Harcourt; but now I think that the 
Count is best! I’ll tell you, Osmond, I will 
never call him grim old Bernard again.” 

“You had best not, for you will never have 
a more true-hearted vassal.” 

“Well, I wish we were back in Normandy, 
with Fru Astrida and Alberic. I cannot bear 
that Lothaire. He is proud, and unknightly, and 


126 


The Little Duke. 


cruel. I am sure he is, and I will never love 
him. 

44 Hush, mv Lord! — beware of speaking so 
loud. You are not in your own Castle.” 

“ And Carloman is a chicken-heart,” continued 
Richard, unheeding. 44 He does not like to touch 
snow, and he cannot even slide on the ice, and 
he is afraid to go near that great dog — that 
beautiful wolf-hound.” 

44 He is very little,” said Osmond. 

44 I am sure I was not as cowardly at his age, 
now was I, Osmond? Don’t you remember?” 

44 Come, Lord Richard, I cannot let you wait 
to remember everything; tell your beads and 
pray that we may be brought safe back to 
Rouen; and that you may not forget all the 
good that Father Lucas and holy Abbot Martin 
have labored to teach you.” 

So Richard told the beads of his rosary — 
black polished wood, with amber at certain 
spaces — he repeated a prayer with every bead, 
and Osmond did the same; then the little Duke 
put himself into a narrow crib of richly carved 
walnut; while Osmond, having stuck his dagger 
so as to form an additional bolt to secure the 
door, and examined the hangings that no secret 


The Departure, 


127 


entrance might be concealed behind them, gath¬ 
ered a heap of rushes together, and lay down on 
them, wrapped in his mantle, across the doorway. 
The Duke was soon asleep; but the Squire lay 
long awake, musing on the possible dangers 
that surrounded his charge, and on the best way 
of guarding against them. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE COURT OF LAON 


SMOND de Centeville was soon convinced 



that no immediate peril threatened his 
young Duke at the Court of Laon. Louis seemed 
to intend to fulfil his oaths to the Normans by 
allowing the child to be the companion of his 
own sons, and to be treated in every respect as 
became his rank. Richard had his proper place 
at table, and all due attendance; he learnt, rode, 
and played with the Princes, and there was noth¬ 
ing to complain of, excepting the coldness and 
inattention with which the King and Queen ‘ 
treated him, by no means fulfilling the promise 
of being as parents to their orphan ward. Ger- 
berge, who had from the first dreaded his supe¬ 
rior strength and his roughness, with her puny 


128 


The Court of Laon. 


129 


boys, and who had been by no means won by 
his manners/at their first meeting, was especialty 
distant and severe with him, hardly ever speak¬ 
ing to him except with some rebuke, which it 
must be confessed, Richard often deserved. 

As to the boys, his constant companions, 
Richard was on very friendly terms with 
Carloman, a gentle, timid, weakly child. Richard 
looked down upon him; but he was kind, as a 
generous-tempered boy could not fail to be, to 
one younger and weaker than himself. He was 
so much kinder than Lothaire, that Carloman 
was fast growing very fond of him, and looked 
up to his strength and courage as something 
noble and marvellous. 

It was very different with Lothaire, the person 
from whom, above all others, Richard would 
have most expected to meet with affection, as 
his father’s god-son, a relationship which in those 
times was thought almost as near as kindred 
by blood. Lothaire had been brought up by an 
indulgent mother and by courtiers who never 
ceased flattering him, as the heir to the crown, 
and he had learnt to think that to give way to 
his naturally imperious and violent disposition 
was the way to prove his power and assert his 


130 


The Little Luke. 


rank. He had always had his own way, and 
nothing had ever been done to check his faults; 
somewhat weakly health had made him fretful 
and timid; and a latent consciousness of this 
fearfulness made him all the more cruel, some¬ 
times because he was frightened, sometimes be¬ 
cause he fancied it manly. 

He treated his little brother in a way which in 
these times boys would call bullying; and, as no 
one ever dared to oppose the King’s eldest son, 
it was pretty much the same with every one else, 
except now and then some dumb creature, and 
then all Lothaire’s cruelty was shown. When 
his horse kicked, and ended by throwing him, he 
stood by, and caused it to be beaten till the poor 
creature’s back streamed with blood; when his 
dog bit his hand in trying to seize the meat 
with which he was teasing it, he insisted on hav¬ 
ing it killed, and it was worse still when a 
falcon pecked one of his fingers. It really hurt 
him a good deal, and, in a furious rage, he caused 
two nails to be heated red hot in the fire, in¬ 
tending to have them thrust into the poor bird’s 
eyes. 

“ I will not have it done ! ” exclaimed Richard, 
expecting to be obeyed as he was at home; but 


The Court of Laon. 


131 


Lothaire only laughed scornfully, saying, “ Do you 
think you are master here, Sir pirate?” 

“ I will not have it done I ” repeated Richard, 
“ Shame on you, shame on you, for thinking of 
such an unkingly deed.” 

“ Shame on me! Do you know to whom you 
speak, master savage?” cried Lothaire, red with 
passion. 

“I know who is the savage now! ” said Richard. 
“ Hold ! ” to the servant who was bringing the 
red-hot irons in a pair of tongs. 

“ Hold?” exclaimed Lothaire. “No one com¬ 
mands here but I and my father. Go on Chariot 
— where is the bird ? Keep her fast, Giles.” 

“Osmond. You I can command-” 

“Come away, my Lord,” said Osmond, inter¬ 
rupting Richard’s order, before it was issued. 
“ We have no right to interfere here, and cannot 
hinder it. Come away from such a foul sight.” 

“ Shame on you too, Osmond, to let such a 
deed be done without hindering it! ” exclaimed 
Richard, breaking from him, and rushing on the 
man who carried the hot irons. The French 
servants were not very willing to exert their 
strength against the Duke of Normandy, and 
Richard’s onset, taking the man by surprise, made 



132 


The Little Luke. 


him drop the tongs. Lothaire, both afraid and 
enraged, caught them up as a weapon of defence, 
and, hardly knowing what he did, struck full at 
Richard’s face with the hot iron. Happily it 
missed his eye, and the heat had a little abated; 
but, as it touched his cheek, it burnt him suf¬ 
ficiently to cause considerable pain. With a cry 
of passion, he flew at Lothaire, shook him with 
all his might, and ended by throwing him at 
his length on the pavemeut. But this was the 
last of Richard’s exploits, for he was at the 
same moment captured by his Squire, and borne 
off, struggling and kicking as if Osmond had 
been his greatest foe; but the young Norman’s 
arms were like iron round him; and he gave 
over his resistance sooner, because at that mo¬ 
ment a whirring flapping sound was heard, and 
the poor hawk rose high, higher, over their 
heads in every lessening circles, far away from 
her enemies. The servant who held her, had 
relaxed his grasp in the consternation caused by 
Lothaire’s fall, and she was mounting up and 
up, spying, it might be, her way to her native 
rocks in Iceland, with the yellow eyes which 
Richard had saved. 

“Safe! safe!” cried Richard, joyfully, ceasing 


The Court of Laon. 


133 


his struggles. O how glad I am ! That young 
villain should never have hurt her. Put me 
down, Osmond, what are you doing with me ? ” 

“ Saving you from your — no, I cannot call 
it folly — I would hardly have had you stand 
still to see such — but let me see your face.” 

“ It is nothing. I don’t care now the hawk 
is safe,” said Richard, though he could hardly 
keep his lips in order, and was obliged to 
wink very hard with bis eyes to keep the tears 
out, now that he had leisure to feel the smart¬ 
ing ; but it would have been far beneath a 
Northman to complain, and he stood bearing it 
gallantly, and pinching his fingers tightly to¬ 
gether, while Osmond knelt down to examine 
the hurt. “ ’Tis not much,” said he, talking 
to himself, “ half bruise, half burn — I wish my 
grandmother was here — however, it can’t last 
long! ’Tis right, you bear it like a little 
Berserkar, and it is no bad thing that you 
should have a scar to show, that they may not 
be able to say you did all the damage.” 

“ Will it always leave a mark ? ” said Rich¬ 
ard. “I am afraid they will call me Richard 
of the scarred cheek, when we get back to 
Normandy.” 


134 


The Little Duke. 


“ Never mind, if they do — it will not be a 
mark to be ashamed of, even if it does last, 
which I do not believe it will.” 

“ O no, I am so glad the gallant falcon is 
out of his reach! ” replied Richard, in a some¬ 
what quivering voice. 

“Does it smart much? Well, come and bathe 
it with cold water — or shall I take you to one 
of the Queen’s women?” 

“No — the water,” said Richard, and to the 
fountain in the court they went; but Osmond 
had only just begun to splash the cheek with 
the half-frozen water, with a sort of rough 
kindness, afraid at once of teaching the Duke 
to be effeminate, and of not being as tender 
to him as Dame Astrida would have wished, 
when a messenger came in haste from the King, 
commanding the presence of the Duke of Nor¬ 
mandy and his Squire. 

Lotliaire was standing between his father and 
mother on their throne-like seat, leaning against 
the Queen, who had her arm round him; his 
face was red and glazed with tears, and he still 
shook with subsiding sobs. It was evident he 
was just recovering from a passionate crying fit. 

“How is this?” began the King, as Richard 



FALSE ACCUSATION 






























































































































































- 




































































The Court of Laon. 


137 


entered. “ What means this conduct, my Lord 
of Normandy ? Know 3^011 what you have done 
in striking the heir of France ? I might imprison 
you this instant in a dungeon where you would 
never see the light of day.” 

“ Then Bernard de Harcourt would come and 
set me free,” fearlessly answered Richard. 

“ Do you bandy words with me, child ? Ask 
Prince Lothaire’s pardon instantly, or you shall 
rue it.” 

“I have done nothing to ask his pardon for. 
It would have been cruel and cowardly in me 
to let him put out the poor hawk’s eyes,” said 
Richard, with a Northman’s stern contempt for 
pain, disdaining to mention his own burnt cheek, 
which indeed the King might have seen plainly 
enough. 

“ Hawk’s eyes ! ” repeated the King. “ Speak 
the truth, Sir Duke; do not add slander to your 
other faults.” 

“I have spoken the truth — I alwa3 r s speak 
it! ” cried Richard. “ Whoever sa)^s otherwise 
lies in his throat.” 

Osmond here hastity interfered, and desired 
permission to tell the whole story. The hawk 
was a valuable bird, and Louis’s face darkened 


138 


The Little Duke. 


when he heard what Lothaire had purposed, for 
the Prince had, in telling his own story, made 
it appear that Richard had been the aggressor by 
insisting on letting the falcon fly. Osmond 
finished by pointing to the mark on Richard’s 
cheek, so evidently a burn, as to be proof that 
hot iron had played a part in the matter. The 
King looked at one of his own Squires and asked 
his account, and he with some hesitation could 
not but reply that it was as the young Sieur de 
Centeville had said. Thereupon Louis angrily 
reproved his own people for having assisted the 
Prince in trying to injure the hawk, called for 
the chief falconer, rated him for not better 
attending to his birds, and went forth with him 
to see if the hawk could yet be re-captured, 
leaving the two boys neither punished nor par¬ 
doned. 

“ So you have escaped for this once,” said 
Gerberge, coldly, to Richard; you had better 
beware another time. Come with me, my poor 
darling Lothaire.” She led her son away to her 
own apartments, and the French Squires began 
to grumble to each other complaints of the 
impossibility of pleasing their Lords, since, if 
they contradicted Prince Lothaire, he was so 


The Court of Laon. 


139 


spiteful that he was sure to set the Queen against 
them, and that was far worse in the end than the 
King's displeasure. Osmond, in the meantime, 
took Richard to re-commence bathing his face, 
and presently Carloman ran out to pity him, 
wonder at him for not crying, and say he was 
glad the poor hawk had escaped. 

The cheek continued inflamed and painful for 
some time, and there was a deep scar long after 
the pain had ceased, but Richard thought little 
of it after the first, and would have scorned to 
bear ill-will to Lothaire for the injury. 

Lothaire left off taunting Richard with his 
Norman accent, and calling him a young Sea- 
king. He had felt his strength, and was afraid 
of him; but he did not like him the better — 
he never played with him willingly — scowled, 
and looked dark and jealous, if his father, or 
if any of the great nobles took the least notice 
of the little Duke, and whenever he was out 
of hearing, talked against him with all his natural 
spitefulness. 

Richard liked Lothaire quite as little, con¬ 
temning almost equally his cowardly ways and 
his imperious disposition. Since he had been 
Duke, Richard had been somewhat inclined to 


140 


The Little Duke. 


grow imperious himself, though always kept under 
restraint by Fru Astrida’s good training, and 
Count Bernard’s authority, and his whole gener¬ 
ous nature would have revolted against treating 
Alberic, or indeed his meanest vassal, as Lothaire 
used the unfortunate children who were his 
playfellows. Perhaps this made him look on 
with great horror at the tyranny which Lothaire 
exercised: at any rate he learnt to abhor it 
more, and to make many resolutions against 
ordering people about uncivilly when once he 
should be in Normandy again. He often 
interfered to protect the poor boys, and generally 
with success, for the Prince was afraid of pro¬ 
voking such another shake as Richard had once 
given him, and though he generally repaid him¬ 
self on his victim in the end, he yielded for the 
time. 

Carloman, whom Richard often saved from his 
brother’s unkindness, clung closer and closer to 
him, went with him everywhere, tried to do all he 
did, grew very fond of Osmond, and liked nothing 
better than to sit by Richard in some wide win¬ 
dow-seat, in the evening, after supper, and listen 
to Richard’s version of some of Fru Astrida’s 
favorite tales, or hear the never-ending history 


The Court of Laon. 141 

of sports at Centeville, or at Kollo’s Tower, or 
settle what great things they would both do 
when they were grown up, and Richard was 
ruling Normandy—perhaps go to the Holy Land 
together, and slaughter an unheard-of host of 
giants and dragons on the way. In the mean¬ 
time, however, poor Carloman gave small promise 
of being able to perform great exploits, for he 
was very small for his age and often ailing; soon 
tired, and never able to bear much rough play, 
Richard, who had never had any reason to learn 
to forbear, did not at first understand this, and 
made Carloman cry several times with his rough¬ 
ness and violence, but this always vexed him 
so much that he grew careful to avoid such things 
for the future, and gradually learnt to treat his 
poor little weakly friend with a gentleness and 
patience at which Osmond used to marvel, and 
which he would hardly have been taught in his 
prosperity at home. 

Between Carloman and Osmond he was thus 
tolerably happy at Laon, but he missed his own 
dear friends, and the loving greetings of his 
vassals, and longed earnestly to be at Rouen, 
asking Osmond almost every night when they 
should go back, to which Osmond could only 


142 


The Little Duke. 


answer that he must pray that Heaven would 
be pleased to bring them home safely. 

Osmond, in the meantime, kept a vigilant 
watch for anything that might seem to threaten 
danger to his Lord; but at present there was no 
token of any evil being intended; the only point 
in which Louis did not seem to be fulfilling 
his promises to the Normans was, that no prep¬ 
arations were made for attacking the Count 
of Flanders. 

At Easter the court was visited by Hugh the 
White, the great Count of Paris, the most power¬ 
ful man in France, and who was only prevented 
by his own loyalty and forbearance, from taking 
the crown from the feeble and degenerate race of 
Charlemagne. He had been a firm friend of 
William Longsword, and Osmond remarked how 
on his arrival, the King took care to bring Richard 
forward, talk of him affectionately, and caress 
him almost as much as he had done at Rouen. 
The Count himself was really kind and affection¬ 
ate to the little Duke; he kept him b} r his 
side, and seemed to like to stroke down his 
long flaxen hair, looking in his face with a 
grave mournful expression, as if seeking for a 
likeness to his father. He soon asked about 


The Coiirt of La<rn> 


143 


the scar which the burn had left, and the King 
was obliged to answer hastily, it was an acci¬ 
dent, a disaster that had chanced in a boyish 
quarrel. Louis, in fact, was uneasy, and ap¬ 
peared to be watching the Count of Paris the 
whole time of his visit, so as to prevent him 
from having any conversation in private with 
the other great vassals assembled at the court. 
Hugh did not seem to perceive this, and acted 
as if he was entirely at his ease, but at the 
same time he watched his opportunity. One 
evening, after supper, he came up to the win¬ 
dow where Richard and Carloman were, as usual, 
deep in story telling; he sat down on the stone 
seat, and taking Richard on his knee, he asked 
if he had any greetings for the Count de 
Harcourt. 

How Richard’s face lighted up ! “ Oh Sir,” he 

cried, “ are you going to Normandy ? ” 

“Not yet, my boy, but it may be that I may 
have to meet old Harcourt at the Elm of Gisors.’* 
“ O, if I was but going with you.” 

“ I wish I could take you, but it would 
scarcely do for me to steal the heir of Normandy. 
What shall I tell him ? ” 

“ Tell him,” whispered Richard, edging himself 


144 


The Little Duke. 


close to the Count, and trying to reach his ear, 
“ tell him that I am sorry, now, that I was 
sullen when he reproved me. I know he was 
right. And, sir, if he brings with him a certain 
huntsman with a long hooked nose, whose name 
is Walter , 12 tell him I am sorry I used to order 
him about so unkindly. And tell him to bear 
m}' greetings to Fru Astrida and Sir Eric, and 
to Alberic.” 

“ Shall I tell him how you have marked your 
face ? ” 

“No,” said Richard, “he would think me a 
baby to care about such a thing as that! ” 

The count asked how it happened, and Richard 
told the story, for he felt as if he could tell the 
kind Count anything — it was almost like that 
last evening that he had sat on his father’s knee. 
Hugh ended by putting his arm round him, and 
saying, “ Well, my little Duke, I am as glad as 
you are the gallant bird is safe — it will be a tale 
for iny own little Hugh and Eumacette 13 at home 
— and you must one day be friends with them as 
your father has been with me. And now, do you 
think your Squire could come to my chamber 
late this evening when the household is at rest?” 

Richard undertook that Osmond should do so, 


The Court of Laon. 


145 


and the Count, sitting him down again, returned 
to the dais. Osmond, before going to the Count, 
that evening, ordered Sybald to come and guard 
the Duke’s door. It was a long conference, for 
Hugh had come to Laon chiefly for the purpose 
of seeing how it went with his friend’s son, and 
was anxious to know what Osmond thought of 
the matter. They Agreed that at present there 
did not seem to be any evil intended, and that 
it rather appeared as if Louis wished only to 
keep him as a hostage for the tranquility of 
the borders of Normandy; but Hugh advised 
that Osmond should maintain a careful watch, 
and send intelligence to him on the first token 
of mischief. 

The next morning the Count of Paris quitted 
Laon, and everything went on in the usual course 
till the feast of Whitsuntide, when there was 
always a great display of splendor at the French 
court. The crown vassals generally came to pay 
their duty and go with the King to Church; 
and there was a state banquet, at which the 
King and Queen wore their crowns, and every 
one sat in great magnificence according to their 
rank. 

The grand procession to Church was over. 


146 


The Little Duke. 


Richard had walked with Carloman, the Prince 
richly dressed in blue, embroidered with golden 
fleur-de-lys, and Richard in scarlet, with a gold 
Cross on his breast; the beautiful service was 
over, they had returned to the Castle, and there 
the Seneschal was marshalling the goodly and 
noble company to the banquet, when horses’ feet 
were heard at the gate, announcing some fresh 
arrival. The Seneschal went to receive the guests, 
and presently was heard ushering in the noble 
Prince, Arnulf, Count of Flanders. 

Richard’s face became pale — he turned from 
Carloman by whose side he had been standing, 
and walked straight out of the hall and up the 
stairs, closely followed by Osmond. In a few 
minutes there was a knock at the door of his 
chamber, and a French Knight stood there say¬ 
ing, “Comes not the Duke to the banquet?” 

“ No,” answered Osmond: “ he eats not with 
the slayer of his father.” 

“ The King will take it amiss ; for the sake of 
the child you had better beware,” said the French¬ 
man, hesitating. 

“ He had better beware himself,” exclaimed 
Osmond, indignantly, “ how he brings the treach¬ 
erous murderer of William Longsword into the 


The Court of Laon. 


147 


presence of a free-born Norman, unless he would 
see him slain where lie stands. Were it not for 
the boy, I would challenge the traitor this instant 
to single combat.” 

“ Well, I can scarce blame you,” said the 
Knight, “ but you had best have a care how you 
tread. Farewell.” 

Richard had hardly time to express his indig¬ 
nation, and his wishes that he was a man, before 
another message came through a groom of Lo- 
thaire’s train, that the Duke must fast, if he 
would not consent to feast with the rest. 

“ Tell Prince Lothaire,” replied Richard, “ that 
I am not such a glutton as he — I had rather fast 
than be choked with eating with Arnulf.” 

All the rest of the day, Richard remained in 
his own chamber, resolved not to run the risk of 
meeting with Arnulf. The Squire remained with 
him, in this voluntary imprisonment, and they 
occupied themselves as best they could, with 
furbishing Osmond’s armor, and helping each 
other out in repeating some of the Sagas. They 
once heard a great uproar in the court, and both 
were very anxious to learn its cause, but they 
did not know it till late in the afternoon. 

Carloman crept up to them — “ Here I am at 


148 


The Little Duke. 


last!” he exclaimed. “Here, Richard, I have 
brought you some bread, as you had no dinner: 
it was all I could bring. I saved it under the 
table lest Lothaire should see it.” 

Richard thanked Carloman with all his heart, 
and being very hungry was glad to share the 
bread with Osmond. He asked how long the 
wicked Count was going to stay, and rejoiced to 
hear he was going away the next morning, and 
the King was going with him. 

“ What was that great noise in the court ? ” 
asked Richard. 

“ I scarcely like to tell you,” returned Carlo- 
man. 

Richard, however, begged to hear, and Carlo- 
man was obliged to tell that the two Norman 
grooms, Sybald and Henry, had quarrelled with 
the Flemings of Arnulfs train ; there had been 
a fray, which had ended in the death of three 
Flemings, a Frank, and of Sybald himself—.And 
where was Henry? Alas! there was more ill 
news — the King had sentenced Henry to die, 
and he had been hanged immediately. 

Dark with anger and sorrow grew young Rich¬ 
ard’s face; he had been fond of his two Norman 
attendants, he trusted to their attachment, and 


The Court of Laon. 


149 


he would have wept for their loss even if it had 
happened in any other way ; but now, when it 
had been caused by their enmity to his father’s 
foes, the Flemings—when one had fallen over¬ 
whelmed by numbers, and the other been con¬ 
demned hastily, cruelly, unjustly, it was too 
much, and he almost choked with grief and 
indignation. Why had he not been there, to 
claim Henry as his own vassal, and if he could 
not save him, at least bid him farewell? Then 
he would have broken out in angry threats, but 
he felt his own helplessness, and was ashamed, 
and he could only shed tears of passionate grief, 
refusing all Carloman’s attempts to comfort him. 
Osmond was even more concerned; he valued 
the two Normans extremely for their courage 
and faithfulness, and had relied on sending in¬ 
telligence by their means to Rouen in case of 
need. It appeared to him as if the first oppor¬ 
tunity had been seized of removing these pro¬ 
tectors from the little Duke, and as if the de¬ 
signs, whatever they might be, which had been 
formed against him, were about to take effect. 
He had little doubt that his own turn would be 
the next; but he was resolved to endure any¬ 
thing, rather than give the smallest opportunity 


150 


The Little Duke. 


of removing him, to bear even insults with pa¬ 
tience, and to remember that in his care rested 
the sole hope of safety for his charge. 

That danger was fast gathering around them, 
became more evident every day, especially after 
the King and Arnulf had gone away together. 
It was very hot weather, and Richard had begun to 
weary after the broad cool river at Rouen, where 
he used to bathe last summer; and one evening 
he persuaded his Squire to go down with him 
to the Oise, which flowed along some meadow 
ground about a quarter of a mile from the Castle; 
but they had hardly set forth before three or four 
attendants came running after them, with express 
orders from the Queen that they should return 
immediately. They obeyed, and found her stand¬ 
ing in the Castle hall, looking greatly incensed. 

“ What means this ? ” she asked angrily. 
“Knew you not that the King has left commands 
that the Duke quits not the Castle in his 
absence ? ” 

“ I was only going as far as the river-” 

began Richard, but Gerberge 14 cut him short. 
“ Silence, child — I will hear no excuses. Per¬ 
haps you think, Sieur de Centeville, that you 
may take liberties in the King’s absence, but I 



The Court of Laon. 


151 


tell you that if you are found without the walls 
again, it shall be at your peril; ay, and his! 
I’ll have those haughty eyes put out, if you 
disobey ! ” 

She turned away, and Lothaire looked at 
them with his air of gratified malice. “ You will 
not lord over your betters much longer, young 
pirate! ” said he, as he followed his mother, 
afraid to stay to meet the anger he might have 
excited by the taunt he could not deny himself 
the pleasure of making; but Richard, who, six 
months ago could not brook a slight disappoint¬ 
ment or opposition, had, in his present life of 
restraint, danger, and vexation, learnt to curb 
the first outbreak of temper, and to bear patiently 
instead of breaking out into passion and threats, 
and now his only thought was of his beloved 
Squire. 

“ O Osmond ! Osmond !he exclaimed, “ they 
shall not hurt you. I will never go out again. 
I will never speak another hasty word. I will 
never affront the Prince, if they will but leave 
you with me ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


BACK TO NORMANDY. 

I T was a fine summer evening, and Richard 
and Carloman were playing at ball on the 
steps of the Castle-gate, when a voice was heard 
from beneath, begging for alms from the noble 
Princes in the name of the blessed Virgin, and 
the two boys saw a pilgrim standing at the gate, 
wrapt in a long robe of serge, with a staff in 
his hand, surmounted by a Cross, a scrip at his 
girdle, and a broad shady hat, which he had 
taken off, as he stood, making low obeisances, 
and asking charity. 

“Come in, holy pilgrim,” said Carloman. “It 
is late, and you shall sup and rest here to¬ 
night.” 

“ Blessings from Heaven light on you, noble 
J 5 2 


Bark to Normandy. 


153 


Prince,” replied the pilgrim, and at that mo¬ 
ment Richard shouted joyfully, “ A Norman, a 
Norman! ’tis my own dear speech ! O, are you 
not from Normandy ? Osmond, Osmond! he 
comes from home ! ” 

“ My Lord ! my own Lord ! ” exclaimed the 
pilgrim, and, kneeling on one knee at the foot 
of the steps, he kissed the hand which his young 
Duke held out to him — “ This is joy unlocked 
for! ” 

“Walter! —Walter, the huntsman!” cried 
Richard. “ Is it you ? ” Oh, how is Fru As- 
trida, and all at home ? ” 

“ Well, my Lord, and wearying to know how 
it is with you—” began Walter — but a very 
different tone exclaimed from behind the pilgrim, 

What is all this ? Who is stopping my way ? 
What! Richard would be King, and more, would 
he ? More insolence ! ” It was Lothaire, return¬ 
ing with his attendants from the chase, in by 
no means an amiable mood, for he had been dis¬ 
appointed of his game. 

“ He is a Norman — a vassal of Richard’s 
own,” said Carloman. 

“A Norman, is he? I thought we had got 
rid of the robbers ! We want no robbers here ! 


154 


The Little Duke. 


Scourge him soundly, Perron, and teach him 
how to stop my way ! ” 

“ He is a pilgrim, my Lord, 5 ’ suggested one of 
the followers. 

“ I care not; I’ll have no Normans here, com¬ 
ing spying in disguise. Scourge him, I say, dog 
that he is! Away with him! A spy, a spy!” 

“No Norman is scourged in my sight!” said 
Richard, darting forwards, and throwing himself 
between Walter and the woodsman, who was 
preparing to obey Lothaire, just in time to re- 
| ceive on his own bare neck the sharp, cutting 
leathern thong, which raised a long red streak 
along its course. Lothaire laughed. 

“ My Lord Duke ! What have you done ? Oh, 
leave me—this befits you not!” cried Walter, 
extremely distressed; but Richard had caught 
hold of the whip, and called out, “ Away, away ! 
run! haste, haste ! ” and the words were repeated 
at once by Osmond, Carloman, and many of the 
French, who, though afraid to disobey the Prince, 
were unwilling to violate the sanctity of a pil¬ 
grim’s person; and the Norman, seeing there 
was no help for it, obeyed; the French made 
way for him and he affected his escape ; while 
Lothaire, after a great deal of storming and rag- 


Back to Normandy . 


155 


ing, went up to his mother to triumph in the 
cleverness with which he had detected a Nor¬ 
man spy in disguise. 

Lothaire was not far wrong; Walter had really 
come to satisfy himself as to the safety of the little 
Duke, and try to gain an interview with Os¬ 
mond. In the latter purpose he failed, though 
he lingered in the neigborhood of Laon for sev¬ 
eral days; for Osmond never left the Duke for 
an instant, and he was, as has been shown, a 
close prisoner, in all but the name, within the 
walls of the Castle. The pilgrim had, however, 
the opportuuity of picking up tidings which made 
him perceive the true state of things; he learnt 
the deaths of Sybald and Henry, the alliance 
between the Ring and Arnulf, and the restraint 
and harshness with which the Duke was treated; 
and with this intelligence he went in haste to 
Normandy. 

Soon after his arrival a three days’ fast was 
observed throughout the dukedom, and in every 
church, from the Cathedral of Bayeux to the 
smallest and rudest village shrine, crowds of 
worshippers were kneeling, imploring, many of 
them with tears, that God would look on them 
in his mercy, restore to them their Prince, and 


156 


The Little Duke. 


deliver the child out of the hands of his enemies. 
How earnest and sorrowful were the prayers 
offered at Centeville ma}^ well be imagined ; and 
at Montemar sur Epte the anxiety was scarcely 
less. Indeed, from the time the evil tidings ar¬ 
rived, Alberic grew so restless and unhappy, and 
so anxious to do something, that at last his 
mother set out with him on a pilgrimage to the 
Abbey of Jumielges, to pray for the rescue of 
his dear little Duke. 

In the meantime Louis had sent notice to 
Laon that he should return home in a week’s 
time ; and Richard rejoiced at the prospect, for 
the King had always been less unkind to him 
than the Queen, and he hoped to be released 
from his captivity within the Castle. Just at this 
time he became very unwell; it might have been 
only the effect of the life of unwonted confine¬ 
ment which he had lately led that was begin¬ 
ning to tell on his health; but, after being heavy 
and. uncomfortable for a day or two, without 
knowing what was the matter with him, he was 
one night attacked with high fever. 

Osmond was dreadfully alarmed, knowing 
nothing at all of the treatment of illness, and, 
what was worse, fully persuaded that the poor 


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157 


child had been poisoned, and therefore resolved 
not to call any assistance ; he hung o^gr him all 
night, expecting each moment to see him expire 
— ready to tear his hair with despair and fury, 
and yet obliged to restrain himself to the utmost 
quietness and gentleness, to soothe the suffering 
of the sick child. 

Through that night, Richard either tossed 
about on his narrow bed, or, when his restless¬ 
ness desired the change, sat, leaning his aching 
head on Osmond’s breast, too oppressed and 
miserable to speak or think. When the day 
dawned on them, and he was still too ill to 
leave the room, messengers were sent for him, 
and Osmond could no longer conceal the fact 
of his sickness, but parleyed at the door, keep¬ 
ing out every one he could, and refusing all offers 
of attendance. He would not even admit Carlo- 
man, though Richard, hearing his voice, begged 
to see him; and when a proposal was sent from 
the Queen, that a skilful old nurse should visit 
and prescribe for the patient, he refused with all 
his might, and when he had shut the door, walked 
up and down, muttering, “ Ay, ay, the witch! 
coming to finish what she has begun ! ” 

All that day and the next, Richard continued 


158 


The Little Duke. 


very ill, and Osmond waited on him very assid¬ 
uously, n^rer closing his eyes for a moment, but 
constantly telling his beads whenever the boy 
did not require his attendance. At last Richard 
fell asleep, slept long and soundly for some 
hours, and waked much better. Osmond was in 
a transport of joy : 

“Thanks to Heaven, they shall fail for this 
time ! and they shall never have another chance ! 
May Heaven be with us still! ” 

Richard was too weak and weary to ask what 
he meant, and for the next few days Osmond 
watched him with the utmost care. As for food, 
now that Richard could eat again, Osmond would 
not hear of his touching what was sent for him 
from the royal table, but always went down him¬ 
self to procure food in the kitchen, where he said 
he had a friend among the cooks, who would, he 
thought, scarcely poison him intentionally. When 
Richard was able to cross the room, he insisted 
on his always fastening the door with his dagger, 
and never opening to any summons but his own, 
not even Prince Carloman’s. Richard wondered, 
but he was obliged to obey; and he knew enough 
of the perils around him to perceive the reason¬ 
ableness of Osmond’s caution. 


Bach to Normandy . 


159 


Thus several days had passed, the King had 
returned, and Richard was so much recovered, 
that he had become very anxious to be allowed 
to go down stairs again, instead of remaining 
shut up there; but still Osmond would not con¬ 
sent, though Richard had done nothing all day 
but walk round the room to show how strong 
he was. 

“ Now my, Lord, guard the door — take care,” 
said Osmond; “ you have no loss to-day, for the 
King has brought home Herluin of Montrueil, 
whom you would be almost as loth to meet as 
the Fleming. And tell your beads while I am 
gone, that the Saints majr bring us out of our 
peril.” 

Osmond was absent nearly half an hour, and, 
when he returned, brought on his shoulders a 
huge bundle of straw. 

“ What is this for ? ” exclaimed Richard. “ I 
wanted my supper, and you have brought 
straw! ” 

“ Here is your supper,” said Osmond, throw¬ 
ing down the straw, and producing a bag with 
some bread and meat. “ What should you say, 
my Lord, if we should sup in Normandy to¬ 
morrow night?” 


160 


The Little Luke. 


“In Normandy!” cried Richard, springing up 
and clapping his hands. “In Normandy! O 
Osmond, did you say in Normandy? Shall we, 
shall we really ? Oh joy! joy! Is Count Ber¬ 
nard come? Will the King let us go?” 

“Hush ! hush, sir ! It must be our own doing ; 
it will all fail if }^ou are not silent and prudent, 
and we shall be undone.” 

“ I will do an}Thing to get home again ! ” 

“ Eat first,” said Osmond. 

“ But what are you going to do ? I will riot 
be as foolish as I was when you tried to get me 
safe out of Rollo’s tower. But I should like to 
wish Carloman farewell.” 

“ That must not be,” said Osmond: “ we 
should not have time to escape, if they did 
not still believe you very ill in bed.” 

“ I am sorry not to wish Carloman good-bye,’ ’ 
repeated Richard; but we shall see Fru Astrida 
again, and Sir Eric; and Alberic must come 
back! Oh, do let us go! O Normandy, dear 
Normandy! ” 

Richard could hardly eat for excitement, while 
Osmond hastily made his arrangements, girding 
on his sword, and giving Richard his dagger to 
put into his belt. He placed the remainder 0 f 


Bach to Normandy. 


161 


the provisions in his wallet, threw a thick purple 
cloth mantle over the Duke, and then desired 
him to lie down on the straw which he had 
brought in. 

“ I shall hide you in it,” he said, “ and carry 
you through the hall, as if I was going to feed 
my horse.” 

“ Oh, they will never guess! ” cried Richard, 
laughing. “I will be quite still — I will make 
no noise—I will hold my breath.” 

“ Yes, mind you do not move hand or foot, 
or rustle the straw. It is no play — it is life or 
death,” said Osmond, as he disposed the straw 
round the little boy. “ There, can you breathe ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Richard’s voice from the midst. 
“ Am I quite hidden ? ” 

“ Entirely. Now, remember, whatever hap¬ 
pens, do not move. May Heaven protect us! 
Now, the Saints be with us!” 

Richard, from the interior of the bundle, heard 
Osmond set open the door ; then he felt himself 
raised from the ground: Osmond was carrying 
him along down the stairs, the ends of the straw 
crushing and sweeping against the wall. The 
only way to the outer door was through the 
hall, and here was the danger. Richard heard 


162 


The Little Duke. 


voices, steps, loud singing and laughter, as if 
feasting was going on ; then some one said : 

“Tending your horse, Sieur de Centeville ? ” 

“Yes,” Osmond made answer. “You know 
since we lost our grooms, the poor black would 
come off badly did I not attend to him.” 

Presently came Carloman’s voice: 

“ O Osmond de Centeville ! is Richard better?” 

“ He is better, my Lord, I thank you, but 
hardly yet out of danger.” 

“ Oh, I wish he was well! And when will you 
let me come to him, Osmond! Indeed, I would 
sit quiet, and not disturb him.” 

“ It may not be }^et, my Lord, though the 
Duke loves you well—he told me so but 
now.” 

“Did he? N Oh, tell him I love him very much 
— better than any one here — and it is very dull 
without him. Tell him so, Osmond.” 

Richard could hardly help calling out to his 
dear little Carloman; but lie- remembered the 
peril of Osmond’s eyes, and the Queen’s threat, 
and held his peace, with some vague notion that 
some day he would make Carloman King of 
France. In the meantime, half stifled with the 
straw, he felt himself carried on, down the steps, 



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165 


across the court; and then he knew, from the 
darkness and the changed sound of Osmond’s 
tread, that they were in the stable. Osmond 
laid him carefully down, and whispered — 

“ All right so far. You can breathe.” 

“ Not well. Can’t you let me out ? ” 

“Not yet — not for worlds. Now tell me if I 
put your face downwards, for I cannot see.” 

He laid the living heap of straw across the 
saddle, bound it on, then led out the horse, 
gazing round cautiously as he did so; but the 
whole of the people of the Castle were feasting, 
and there was no one to watch the gates. 

Richard heard the hollow sound of the hoofs; 

\ 

as the drawbridge was crossed, and knew that 
he was free; but still Osmond held his arm over 
him, and would not let him move, for some 
distance. Then just as Richard felt as if he 
could endure the stilling of the straw, and his 
uncomfortable position, not a moment longer, 
Osmond stopped the horse, took him down, 
laid him on the grass, and released him. He 
gazed around ; they were in a little wood; even¬ 
ing twilight was just coming on, and the birds 
sang sweetly. 

“ Free ! free ! — this is freedom ! ” cried Richard, 


166 


The Little Duke . 


leaping up in the delicious cool evening breeze ; 
“ the Queen and Lothaire, and that grim room, 
all far behind.” 

“Not so far yet,” said Osmond; “you must 
not call yourself safe till the Epte is between us 
and them. Into the saddle, my Lord; we must 
ride for our lives.” 

Osmond helped the Duke to mount, and 
sprang to the saddle behind him, set spurs to 
the horse, and rode on at a quick rate, though 
not at full speed, as he wished to spare the 
horse. The twilight faded, the stars came out, 
and still he rode, his arm round the child, who, 
as night advanced, grew weary, and often sunk 
into a sort of half doze, conscious all the time of 
the trot of the horse. But each step was taking 
him further from Queen Gerberge, and nearer to 
Normandy; and what recked he of weariness ? 
On — on ; the stars grew pale again, and the first 
pink light of dawn showed in the eastern sky; 
the sun rose, mounted higher and higher, and 
the day grew hotter; the horse went more slowdy, 
stumbled, and though Osmond halted and loosed 
the girth, he only mended his space for a little 
while. 

Osmond- looked grievously perplexed; but 


Back to Normandy . 


167 


they had not gone much further before a party 
of merchants came in sight, winding their way 
with a long train of loaded mules, and stout men 
to guard them, across the plains, like an eastern 
caravan in the desert. They gazed in surprise 
at the tall young Norman holding the child 
upon the worn-out war-horse. 

u Sir merchant,” said Osmond to the finest, u see 
you this steed ? Better horse never was ridden; 
but he is sorely spent, and we must make speed. 
Let me barter him with you for yonder stout 
palfrey. He is worth twice as much, but I can¬ 
not stop to chaffer — ay or no at once.” 

The merchant, seeing the value of Osmond’s 
gallant black, accepted the offer; and Osmond, 
removed his saddle, and placing Richard on his 
new steed, again mounted, and on they went 
through the country which Osmond’s eye had 
marked with the sagacity men acquire by living 
in wild, unsettled places. The great marshes 
were now far less dangerous than in the winter, 
and they safely crossed them. There had, as 
yet, been no pursuit, and Osmond’s only fear 
was for his little charge, who, not having re¬ 
covered his full strength since his illness, began 
to suffer greatly from fatigue in the heat of that 


168 


The Little Duke. 


broiling summer day, and leant against Osmond 
patiently, but very wearily, without moving or 
looking up. He scarcely revived when the sun 
went down, and a cool breeze sprang up, which 
much refreshed Osmond himself; and still more 
did it refresh the Squire to see, at length, winding 
through the green pastures, a blue river, on 
the opposite bank of which rose a high rocky 
mound, bearing a castle with many a turret and 
battlement. 

“ The Epte! the Epte ! There is Normandy, 
sir ! Look up, and see your own dukedom.” 

“ Normandy ! ” cried Richard, sitting upright. 
u Oli, my own home ! ” 

Still the Epte was wide and deep, and the peril 
was not yet ended. Osmond looked anxiously, 
and rejoiced to see marks of cattle, as if it had 
been forded. “We must try it,” he said, and 
dismounting, he waded in, leading the horse, 
and firmly holding Richard in the saddle. Deep 
they went; the water rose to Richard’s feet, then 
to the horse’s neck; then the horse was swim¬ 
ming, and Osmond too, still keeping his firm 
hold; then there was ground again, the force of 
the current was less, and they were gaining the 
bank. At that instant, however, they perceived 


Back to Normandy. 


169 


two men aiming at them with crossed-bows from 
the castle, and another standing on the bank 
above them, who called out, “Hold! None 
pass the ford of Montdmar without permission 
of the noble Dame Yolande.” 

“ Ha! Bertrand, the Seneschal, is that you ?” 
returned Osmond. 

“Who calls me by my name?” replied the 
Seneschal. 

It is I, Osmond de-Centeville. Open your 
gates quickly, Sir Seneschal; for here is- the 
Duke, sorely in need of rest and refreshment.” 

“ The Duke ! ” exclaimed Bertrand, hurrying 
down to the landing-place, and throwing off 
his cap. 

“ The Duke! the Duke! ” rang out the shout 
from the men-at-arms on the battlements above; 
and in an instant more Osmond had led the horse 
up from the water, and was exclaiming, “ Look 
up, my Lord, look up! You are in your own 
dukedom again, and this is Alberic’s castle.” 

“Welcome, indeed, most noble Lord Duke! 
Blessings on the day!” cried the Seneschal. 
“ what joy for my Lady and my young 
Lord ! ” 

“He is sorely weary,” said Osmond, looking- 


170 


The Little Duke. 


anxiously at Richard, who, even at the welcome 
cries that showed so plainly that he was in his 
own Normandy, scarcely raised himself or spoke. 
“ He had been very sick ere I brought him 
away. I doubt me they sought to poison him, 
and I vowed not to tarry at Laon another hour 
after he was fit to move. But cheer up, my 
Lord ; you are safe and free now, and here is the 
good Dame de Montemar to tend you, far better 
than a rude Squire like me.” 

“ Alas, no ! ” said the Seneschal; “ our Dame 
is gone with young Alberic on a pilgrimage to 
Jumi&ges, to pray for the Duke’s safety. What 
joy for them to know that their prayers have 
been granted! ” 

Osmond, however, could scarcely rejoice, so 
alarmed was he at the extreme weariness and 
exhaustion of his charge, who, when they brought 
him into the Castle hall, hardly spoke or looked, 
and could not eat. They carried him up to 
Alberic’s bed, where he tossed about restlessly, 
too tired to sleep. 

“ Alas ! alas ! ” said Osmond, “ I have been too 
hasty. I have but saved him from the Franks to 
be his death by my own imprudence.” 

“ Hush! Sieur de Centeville,” said the Sene- 


Back to Normandy. 


171 


schal’s wife, coming into the room. “ To talk in 
that manner is the way to be his death, indeed. 
Leave the child to me — he is only over-weary.” 

Osmond was sure his Duke was among friends, 
and would have been glad to trust him to a 
woman; but Richard had but one instinct left 
in all his weakness and exhaustion — to cling 
close to Osmond, as if he felt him his only friend 
and protector; for he was as yet, too much 
worn out to understand that he was in Nor¬ 
mandy, and safe. For two or three hours, there¬ 
fore, Osmond and the Seneschal’s wife watched 
on each side of his bed, soothing his restlessness, 
until at length he became quiet, and at last 
dropped sound asleep. 

The sun was high in the heavens when Richard 
awoke. He turned on his straw-filled crib, and 
looked up. It was not the tapestried walls of 
his chamber at Laon that met his opening eyes, 
but the rugged stone and tall loop-hole window 
of a turret chamber. Osmond de Centeville lay 
on the floor by his side, in the sound sleep of 
one overcome by long watching and weariness. 
And what more did Richard see ? 

It was the bright face and sparkling eyes of 
Alberic de Montemar, who was leaning against 


172 


The Little Duke. 


the foot of his bed, gazing earnestly, as he 
watched for his waking. There was a cry — 
“ Alberic ! Alberic ! ” “ My Lord ! my Lord ! ” 

Richard sat up, and held out both arms, and 
Alberic flung himself into them. They hugged 
each other, and uttered broken exclamations and 
screams of joy, enough to have awakened any 
sleeper but one so wearied out as Osmond. 

“ And is it true ? Oh, am I really in Nor¬ 
mandy again?’' cried Richard. 

“ Yes, yes ! — oh, yes, 1113' Lord ! You are at 
MonRimar. Everything here is yours. The bar¬ 
tailed hawk is quite well, and my mother will be 
here this evening; she let me ride on, the instant 
we heard the news.’' 

“We rode long and late, and I was very 
weary,” said Richard; “ but I don’t care, now we 
are at home. But 1 can hardly believe it! O 
Alberic, it has been very dreary ! ” 

“ See here, my Lord! ” said Alberic, standing 
by the window. “ Look here, and you will know 
you are at home again! ” 

Richard bounded to the window, and what 
a sight met his eyes! The Castle court was 
thronged with men-at-arms and horses, the morn¬ 
ing sun sparkled on many a burnished hauberk 


Bach to Normandy 


173 


and tall conical helmet, and above them waved 
many a banner and pennon that Richard knew 
full well. 44 There ! there ! ” he shouted aloud 
with glee. 44 Oh, there is the horse-shoe of 
Ferrieres ! and there the chequers of Warenne! 
Oh, and best of all, there is — there is our own 
red pennon of Centeville! O Alberic! Alberic! 
is Sir Eric here? I must go down to him!” 

“ Bertrand sent out notice to them all, as soon 
as you came, to come and guard our Castle,” 
said Alberic, 44 lest the Franks should pursue you; 
but you are safe now—safe as Norman spears 
can make you — thanks be to God! ” 

44 Yes, thanks to God!” said Richard, crossing 
himself, and kneeling reverently for some minutes, 
while he repeated his Latin prayer; then rising 
and looking at Alberic, he said, 44 1 must thank 
Him, indeed, for he has saved Osmond and me 
from the cruel King and Queen, and I must try 
to be a less hasty and overbearing boy than I 
was when 1 went away; for I vowed that so I 
would be, if ever I came back. Poor Osmond, 
how soundly he sleeps ! Come, Alberic, show 
me the way to Sir Eric! ” 

And, holding Alberic’s hand, Richard left the 
room, and descended the stairs to the Castle 


174 


The Little. Duke . 


hall. Many of the Norman knights and barons, 
in full armor, were gathered there ; but Richard 
looked only for one. He knew Sir Eric’s grizzled 
hair, and blue inlaid armor, though his back was 
towards him, and in a moment, before his entrance 
had been perceived, he sprang towards him, and, 
with outstretched arms, exclaimed: “ Sir Eric — 
dear Sir Eric, here I am! Osmond is safe! 
And is Fru Astrida well ? ” 

The old Baron turned. “ My child! ” he ex¬ 
claimed, and clasped him in his mailed arms, 
while the tears flowed down his rugged cheeks. 
“ Blessed be God that you are safe, and that my 
son has done his duty ! ” 

“ And is Fru Astrida well ? ” 

“Yes, right well, since she heard of your safety. 
But look round, my Lord; it befits not a Duke 
to be clinging thus round an old man’s neck. 
See how many of your true vassels be here, 
to guard you from the villain Franks.” 

Richard stood up, and held out his hand, bow¬ 
ing courteously and acknowledging the greetings 
of each bold baron, with a grace and readiness 
he certainly had not when he left Normandy. 
He was taller, too; and though still pale, and 
not dressed with much care ( since he had hurried 


Back to Normandy. 


175 


on his clothes with no help but Alberic’s) — 
though his hair was rough and disordered, and 
the scar of the burn had not yet faded from his 
cheek — yet still, with his bright blue eyes, glad 
face, and upright form, he was a princely, prom¬ 
ising boy, and the Norman knights looked at 
him with pride and joy, more especially when, 
unprompted, he said : “ I thank you, gallant 

knights, for coming to guard me. I do not fear 
the whole French host, now I am among my 
own true Normans.” 

Sir Eric led him to the door of the hall to 
the top of the steps, that the men-at-arms might 
see him ; and then such a shout rang out of 
“ Long live Duke Richard ! ” — “ Blessings on the 
little Duke ! ” — that it echoed and came back 
again from the hills around — it pealed from 
the old tower — it roused Osmond from his 
sleep — and, if anything more had been wanting 
to do so, it made Richard feel that he was 
indeed in a land where every heart glowed with 
loyal love for him. 

Before the shout had died away, a bugle-horn 
was heard winding before the gate; and Sir 
Eric, saying, “ It is the Count of Harcourt’s 
’note,” sent Bertrand to open the gates in haste, 


176 


The Little Duke. 


while Alberic followed, as Lord of the Castle, 
to receive the Count. 

The old Count rode into the court, and to the 
foot of the steps, where he dismounted, Alberic 
holding his stirrup. He had not taken many 
steps upwards before Richard came voluntarily 
to meet him (which he had never done before), 
held out his hand, and said, “ Welcome, Couut 
Bernard, welcome. Thank you for coming to 
guard me. I am very glad to see you once 
more.” 

“ Ah, my young Lord,” said Bernard, “ I am 
right glad to see you out of the clutches of 
the Franks! You know friend from foe, now, 
methinks! ” 

“ Yes, indeed I do, Count Bernard. I know 
you meant kindly by me, and that I ought to 
have thanked you, and not been angry, when 
you reproved me. Wait one moment, Sir Count; 
there is one thing that I promised myself to 
say, if ever I came safe to my own dear home. 
Walter—Maurice — Jeannot—all you of my 
household, and of Sir Eric’s — I know, before I 
went away, I was often no good Lord to you; 
I was passionate, and proud, and overbearing; 
but God has punished me for it, when 1 was far 


Back to Normandy . 


177 


away among my enemies, and sick and lonely. 
I am very sorry for it, and I hope you will 
pardon me; for I will strive, and I hope God 
will help me, never to be proud and passionate 
again.” 

“There, Sir Eric,” said Bernard, “you hear 
what the boy says. If he speaks it out so bold 
and free, without bidding, and if he holds to 
what he says, I doubt it not that he shall not 
grieve for his journey to France, and that we 
shall see him, in all things, such a Prince as his 
father of blessed memory.” 

“You must thank Osmond for me,” said 
Richard, as Osmond came down, awakened at 
length. “ It is Osmond who has helped me 
to bear my troubles; and as to saving me, why 
he flew away with me even like an old eagle 
with its eaglet. I say, Osmond, you must ever 
after this wear a pair of wings on shield and pen¬ 
non, to show how well we managed our flight .” 15 

“As you will, my Lord,” said Osmond, half 
asleep; “but ’twas a good long flight at a 
stretch, and I trust never to have to fly be¬ 
fore your foes or mine again.” 

What a glad summer’s day was that! Even 
the three hours spent in council did but renew 


178 


The Little Duke. 


the relish with which Richard visited Alberic's 
treasures, told his adventures, and showed the 
accomplishments he had learnt at Laon. The 
evening was more joyous still; for the Castle 
gates were open, first to receive Dame Yolande 
Mont^mar, and not above a quarter of an hour 
afterwards, the drawbridge was lowered to admit 
the followers of Centeville; and in front of 
them appeared Fru Astrida’s own high cap. 
Richard made but one bound into her arms, 
and was clasped to her breast; then held off 
at arm’s-length, that she might see how much 
he was grown, and pity his scar; but, taking 
another look, she declared that Osmond left 
his hair like King Harald Horrid-locks; 16 and, 
drawing an ivory comb from her pouch, began 
to pull out the thick tangles, hurting him to 
a degree that would once have made him rebel, 
but now he only fondled her the more. 

As to Osmond, when he knelt before her, 
she blessed him, and sobbed over him, and 
blamed him for over-tiring her darling, all in 
one; and assuredly, when night closed in, and 
Richard had, as of old, told his beads beside 
her knee, the happiest boy in Normandy was 
its little Duke. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A ROYAL PRISONER. 

ONTEMAR was too near the frontier to 



be a safe abode for the little Duke, and 
his uncle, Count Hubert of Senlis, agreed with 
Bernard the Dane that he would be more secure 
beyond the limits of his own duchy, which was 
likely soon to be the scene of war; and sorely 
against his will, he was sent in secret, under a 
strong escort, first to the Castle of Coucy, and 
afterwards to Senlis. 

His consolation was that he was not again 
separated from his friends ; Alberic, Sir Eric, 
and even Frii Astrida, accompanied him, as well 
as his constant follower, Osmond. Indeed, the 
Baron would hardly bear that he should be out 
of his sight; and he was still so carefully watch- 


180 


The Little Luke. 


ed, that it was almost like a captivity. Never, 
even in the summer days, was he allowed to go 
beyond the Castle walls; and his guardians 
would fain have had it supposed that the Castle 
did not contain any such guest. 

Osmond did not give him so much of his 
company as usual, but was alwaj r s at work in 
the armorer’s forge— a low vaulted, chamber, 
opening into the Castle court. Richard and Al- 
beric were very curious to know what he did 
there; but he fastened the door with an iron 
bar, and they were forced to content themselves 
with listening to the strokes of the hammer, 
keeping time to the voice that sang out, loud 
and cheerily, the song of “Sigurd’s sword, and 
the maiden sleeping within the ring of flame.” 
Fru Astrida said Osmond was quite right — no 
good weapon-smith ever toiled with open doors; 
and when the boys asked him questions as to 
his work, he only smiled, and said that they 
would see what it was when the call to arms 
should come. 

They thought it near at hand, for tidings 
came that Louis had assembled his army, and 
marched into Normandy to recover the person 
cf the young Duke, and to seize the country. 


A Royal Prisoner. 


181 


No summons however, arrived, but a message 
came instead, that Rouen had been surrendered 
into the hands of the King. Richard shed indig¬ 
nant tears. 

“ My father’s Castle! My own city in the 
hands of the foe! Bernard is a traitor, then! 
None shall hinder me from so calling him. Why 
did we trust him ? ” 

“Never fear, Lord Duke,” said Osmond. 
“ When you come to the years of Knighthood, 
your own sword shall right you, in spite of all 
the false Danes, and falser Franks, in the land.” 

“ What! you too, son Osmond ? I deemed 
you carried a cooler brain than to miscall one 
who was true to Rollo’s race before you or yon 
varlet were born ! ” said the old Baron. 

“ He has yielded my dukedom ! ” It is mis¬ 
calling to say he is aught but a traitor! ” cried 
Richard. “Vile, treacherous, favor-seeking — ” 

“Peace, peace, my Lord,” said the Baron. 
“ Bernard has more in that wary head of his than 
your young wits, or my old ones, can unwind. 
What he is doing I may not guess, but I gage 
my life his heart is right.” 

Richard was silent, remembering he had been 
once unjust, but he grieved heartily when he 


182 


The Little Duke. 


thought of the French in Rollo’s tower, and it 
was further reported that the King was about 
to share Normandy among his French vassals. 
A fresh outcry broke out in the little garrison 
of Senlis, but Sir Eric still persisted in his trust 
in his friend Bernard, even when he heard that 
Centeville was marked out as the prey of the 
fat French Count who had served for a hostage 
at Rouen. 

“ What say you now, my Lord ? ” said he, 
after a conference with a messenger at the gate. 
“ The Black Raven has spread its wings. Fifty 
keels are in the Seine, and Harald Blue-tooth’s 
Long Serpent at the head of them.” 

“The King of Denmark! Come to my aid!” 

“ Ay, that he is! Come at Bernard’s secret 
call, to right you, and put you on your father’s 
seat. Now call honest Harcourt a traitor, be¬ 
cause he gave not up your fair dukedom to the 
flame and sword ! ” 

“ No traitor to me,” said Richard, pausing. 

“ No, verily, but what more would you say ? ” 

“I think when I come to my dukedom I will 
not be so politic,” said Richard. “ I will be an 
open friend or an open foe.” 

“ The boy grows too sharp for us ” said Sir 


A Royal Prisoner . 183 

Eric, smiling, “ but it was spoken like his 
father.” 

“ He grows more like his blessed father each 
day,” said Fru Astrida. 

“But the Danes, father, the Danes!” said 
Osmond. “ Blows will be passing now. I may 
join the host and win my spurs! ” 

“ With all my heart,” returned the Baron, “ so 
my Lord here gives you leave: would that I 
could leave him and go with you. It would do 
my very spirit good but to set foot in a Northern 
keel once more.” 

“ I would fain see what these men ot the 
North are,” said Osmond. 

“ Oh! they are only Danes, not Norsemen, 
and there are no Vikings, such as once were 

when Ragnar laid waste-” 

“Son, son, what talk is this for the child’s 
ears?” broke in Fru Astrida, “ are these words 
for a Christian Baron ? ” 

“ Your pardon, mother,” said the grey warrior, 
in all humility, “ but my blood thrills to hear of 
a Northern fleet at hand, and to think of 
Osmond drawing sword under a Sea-King.” 

The next morning, Osmond’s steed was led to 
the door, and such men-at-arms as could be 



184 


The Little Duke. 


spared from the garrison of Senlis were drawn 
up in readiness to accompany him. The boys 
stood on the steps, wishing they were old enough 
to be warriors, and wondering what had become 
of him, until at length the sound of an opening 
door startled them, and there, in the low archway 
of the smithy, the red furnace glowing behind 
him, stood Osmond, clad in bright steel, the 
links of his hauberk reflecting the light, and on 
his helmet a pair of golden wings, while the 
same device adorned his long pointed kite¬ 
shaped shield. 

“ Your wings! our wings!” cried Richard, “ the 
bearing of Centeville ! ” 

“ May they fly after the foe, not before him,” 
said Sir Eric. “ Speed thee well, my son — let 
not our Danish cousins say we learn Frank graces 
instead of Northern blows.” 

With such farewells, Osmond quitted Senlis, 
while the two boys hastened to the battle¬ 
ments, to watch him as long as he remained in 
view. 

The highest tower became their principal 
resort, and their eyes were constantly on the 
heath where lie had disappeared; but days 
passed, and they grew weary of the watch, and 


A Royal Prisoner . 185 

betook themselves to games in the Castle 
court. 

One day, Alberic, in the character of a Dragon, 
was lying on his back, panting hard so as to 
be supposed to cast out volumes of flame 
and smoke at Richard, the knight, who with 
a stick for a lance, and a wooded sword, was 
waging fierce war; when suddenly the Dragon 
paused, sat up, and pointed towards the warder 
on the tower. His horn was at his lips, and 
in another moment, the blast rang out through 
the Castle. 

With a loud shout, both boys rushed headlong 
up the turret stairs, and came to the top so 
breathless, that they could not even ask the 
warder what he saw. He pointed, and the keen- 
eyed Alberic exclaimed, “ I see ! Look Lord, my 
Lord, a speck there on the heath! ” 

“ I do not see ! where, oh where ! ” 

He is behind the hillock now, but-oh, 

there again ! How fast he comes ! ” 

“ It is like the flight of a bird,” said Richard, 
“ fast, fast-” 

“ If only it be not flight in earnest,” said 
Alberic, a little anxiously, looking into the 
warder’s face, for he was a borderer, and tales of 




186 


The Little Duke. 


terror of the inroad of the Yicomte du Contentin 
were rife on the marches of the Epte. 

“ No, young Sir,” said the warder, no fear of 
that. I know how men ride when they flee from 
the battle.” 

“No, indeed, there is no discomfiture in the 
pace of that steed,” said Sir Eric, who had by 
this time joined them. 

“ I see him clearer! I see the horse,” cried 
Richard, dancing with eagerness, so that Sir 
Eric caught hold of him, exclaiming, “You will 
be over the battlements! hold still! better hear 
of a battle lost than that! ” 

“ He bears somewhat in his hand,” said 
Alberic. 

“ A banner or pennon,” said the warder; 
“ Methinks he rides like the young Baron.” 

“ He does! My brave boy! He has done 
good service,” exclaimed Sir Eric, as the figure 
became more developed. “ The Danes have 
seen how we train our young men.” 

“ His wings bring good tidings,” said Richard. 

“ Let me go, Sir Eric, I must tell Fru 
Astrida.” 

The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis 
raised, and as all the dwellers in the Castle 


















































































































































































































*; 








































\ 





♦ 








































































* 






A Royal Prisoner . 


189 


stood gathered in the court, in rode the warrior 
with the winged helm, bearing in his hand a 
drooping banner; lowering it as he entered, it 
unfolded, and displayed, trailing on the ground 
at the feet of the little Duke of Normandy, the 
golden lilies of France. 

A shout of amazement arose, and all gathered 
round him asking hurried questions. 

“ A great victory — the King a prisoner — 
Montreuil slain! ” 

Richard would not be denied holding his hand, 
and leading him to the hall, and there, sitting 
around him, they heard his tidings. His father’s 
first question was, what he thought of their kins¬ 
men, the Danes ? 

44 Rude comrades, father, I must own,” said 
Osmond smiling and shaking his head. “ I could 
not pledge them in a skull-goblet — set in gold 
though it were.” 

“ None the worse warriors,” said Sir Eric. 44 Ay, 
ay, and you were dainty, and brooked not the 
hearty old fashion of tearing the whole sheep to 
pieces. You must needs cut your portion with 
the fine French knife at your girdle.” 

Osmond could not see that a man was braver 
for being a savage, but he held his peace ; and 


190 


The Little Duke. 


Richard impatiently begged to hear how the 
battle had gone, and where it had been fought. 

“ On the bank of the Dive,” said Osmond. 
“ Ah, father, you might well call old Harcourt 
wary — his name might better have been Fox- 
heart than Bear-heart! He had sent to the 
Franks a message of distress, that the Danes 
were on him in full force, and to pray them to 
come to his aid.” 

“ 1 trust there was no treachery. No foul 
dealing shall be wrought in my name,” exclaimed 
Richard with such dignity of tone and manner, 
as made all feel he was indeed their Duke, and 
forget his tender years. 

“No, or should I tell the tale with joy like 
this?” said Osmond. “Bernard’s view was to 
bring the Kings together, and let Louis see you 
had friends to maintain your right. He sought 
but to avoid bloodshed.” 

“ And how chanced it ? ” 

“ The Danes were encamped on the Dive, and 
so soon as the French came in sight, Blue-tooth 
sent a messenger to Louis, to summon him to 
quit Neustria, and leave it to you, its lawful 
owner. Thereupon, Louis, hoping to win him 


A Royal Prisoner. 


191 


over with wily words, invited him to hold a 
personal conference.” 

“ Where were you, Osmond ? ” 

“ Where I had scarce patience to be. Bernard 
had gathered all of us honest Normans together, 
and arranged us beneath that standard of the 
King, as if to repel his Danish inroad. Oh, he 
was, in all seeming, hanci-and-glove with Louis, 
guiding him by his council, and, verily, seeming 
his friend and best adviser! But in one thing 
he could not prevail. That ungrateful recreant, 
Herluin of Montreuil, came with the King, 
hoping, it seems, to get his share of our spoils; 
and when Bernard advised the King to send 
him home, since no true Norman could bear the 
sight of him, the hot-headed Franks vowed no 
Norman should hinder them from bringing whom 
they chose. So a tent was set up by the river¬ 
side, wherein the two Kings, with Bernard, Alan 
of Brittany, and Count Hugh, held their meeting. 
We all stood without, and the two hosts began 
to mingle together, we Normans making ac¬ 
quaintance with the Danes. There was a red- 
haired, wild-looking fellow, who told me he had 
been with Anlaff in England, and spoke much 
of the doings of Hako in Norway; when, sud- 


192 


The Little Luke. 


denly, he pointed to a Knight who was near, 
speaking to a Cotentinois, and asked me his 
name. My blood boiled as I answered, for it 
' was Montreuil himself! 4 The cause of your 

Duke’s death ! ’ said the Dane. 4 Ha, ye Normans 
are fallen sons of Odin, to see him yet live.’ ” 

44 You said, I trust, my son, that we follow not 
the laws of Odin ? ” said Fru Astrida. 

44 1 had no space for a word, grandmother; 
the Danes took the vengeance on themselves. 
In one moment they rushed on Herluin with 
their axes, and the unhappy man was dead. All 
was tumult; every one struck without knowing 
at whom, or for what. Some shouted, 4 Thor 
Hulfe /’ some 4 Lieu aide!' others 4 Montjoie 
St. Lenis /’ Northern blood against French, 
that was all our guide. I found myself at the 
foot of this standard, and had a hard combat 
for it; but I bore it away at last.” 

44 And the Kings ? ” 

44 They hurried out of the tent, it seems, to 
rejoin their men. Louis mounted, but you know 
of old, my Lord, he is but an indifferent horse¬ 
man, and the beast carried him into the midst of 
the Danes, where King Harald caught his bridle, 
and delivered him to four Knights to keep. 


A Royal Prisoner . 


193 


Whether he dealt secretly with them, or whether 
thejr, as they declared, lost sight of him whilst 
plundering his tent, I cannot say ; but when 
Harald demanded him of them, he was gone.” 

“ Gone ! is this what you call having the King 
prisoner ? ” 

“ You shall hear. He rode four leagues, and 
met one of the baser sort of Rouennais, whom 
he bribed to hide him in the Isle of Willows. 
However, Bernard made close inquiries, found 
the fellow had been seen in speech with a French 
horseman, pounced on his wife and children, and 
threatened they should die if he did not disclose 
the secret. So the King was forced to come out 
of his hiding-place, and is now fast guarded in 
Rollo’s tower — a Dane, with a battle-axe on his 
shoulder, keeping guard at every turn of the 
stairs.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” cried Richard. “ I wonder how 
he likes it. I wonder if he remembers holding 
me up to the window, and’ vowing that he meant 
me only good ! ” 

“ When you believed him, mv Lord,” said 
Osmond, slyly. 

“I was a little boy then,” said Richard, 
proudly. k ‘ Why, the very walls must remind 


194 


The Little Luke. 


him of his oath, and how Count Bernard said, 
as he dealt with me, so might Heaven deal 
with him.” 

“ Remember it, my child — beware of broken 
vows,” said Father Lucas; but remember it not 
in triumph over a fallen foe. It were better that 
all came at once to the chapel, to bestow their 
thanksgivings where alone they are due.” 



CHAPTER X. 


THE HOSTAGES. 


FTER nearly a year’s captivity, the King 



1 \. engaged to pay a ransom, and, until the 
terms could be arranged, his two sons were to 
be placed as hostages in the hands of the 
Normans, whilst he returned to his own do¬ 
mains. The Princes were to be sent to Bayeux; 
whither Richard had returned, under the charge 
of the Centevilles, and was now allowed to ride 
and walk abroad freely, provided he was accom¬ 
panied by a guard.” 

“ I shall rejoice to have Carloman, and make 
him happy,” said Richard ; “ but I wish Lothaire 
were not coming.” 

“ Perhaps,” said good Father Lucas, “ he comes 
that you may have a first trial in your father’s 


196 


The Little Duke. 


last lesson, and Abbot Martin’s, and return good 
for evil.” 

The Duke’s cheek flushed, and he made no 
answer. 

He and Alberic betook themselves to the 
watch-tower, and, by-and-by, saw a cavalcade 
approaching, with a curtained vehicle in the 
midst, swung between two horses. “ That cannot 
be the Princes,” said Alberic; “ that must surely 
be some sick lady.” 

“I only hope it is not the Queen,” exclaimed 
Richard, in dismay. “ But no ; Lothaire is such 
a coward, no doubt he was afraid to ride, and 
she would not trust her darling without shut¬ 
ting him up like a demoiselle. But come down, 
Alberic; I will say nothing unkind of Lothaire, 
if I can help it.” 

Richard met the Princes in the court, his sunny 
hair uncovered, and bowing with such becoming 
courtesy, that Fru Astrida pressed her son’s arm, 
and bade him say if their little Duke was not 
the fairest and noblest child in Christendom. 

With black looks, Lothaire stepped from the 
litter, took no heed of the little Duke, but, 
roughty calling his attendant, Chariot, to follow 
him, he marched into the hall, vouchsafing 


The Hostages. 


197 


neither word nor look to any as he passed, 
threw himself into the highest seat, and ordered 
Chariot to bring him some wine. 

Meanwhile, Richard, looking into the litter, 
saw Carloman crouching in a corner, sobbing 
with fright. 

“Carloman!—dear Carloman!—do not cry. 
Come out! It is I—your own Richard! Will 
you not let me welcome you ? ” 

Carloman looked, caught at the outstretched 
hand, and clung to his neck. 

“ O Richard, send us back ! Do not let the 
savage Danes kill us ! ” 

“ No one will hurt you. There are no Danes 
here. You are my guest, my friend, my brother. 
Look up! here is my own Fru Astrida.” 

“ But my mother said the Northmen would 
kill us for keeping you captive. She wept and 
raved, and the cruel men dragged us away by 
force. Oh, let us go back ! ” 

“ I cannot do that,” said Richard; “ for you 
are the King of Denmark’s captives, not mine ; 
but I will love you, and you shall have all that 
is mine, if you will only not cry, dear Carloman. 
O Fru Astrida, what shall I do ? You comfort 
him-” as the poor boy clung sobbing to him. 


198 


The Little Luke. 


Fru Astrida advanced to take his hand, speak¬ 
ing in a soothing voice, but he shrank and started 
with a fresh cry of terror — her tall figure, high 
cap, and wrinkled face, were to him witch-like, 
and as she knew no French, he understood not 
her kind words. However, he let Richard lead 
him into the hall, where Lothaire sat moodily in 
the chair, with one leg tucked under him, and 
his finger in his mouth. 

“I say, Sir Duke,” said he, “ is there nothing 
to be had in this old den of yours ? Not a drop 
of Bordeaux ? ” 

Richard tried to repress his anger at this very 
uncivil way of speaking, and answered, that he 
thought there was none, but there was plenty 
of Norman cider. 

“ As if I would taste your mean peasant 
drinks! I bade them bring my supper—why 
does it not come?” 

“ Because you are not master here,” trembled 
on Richard’s lips, but he forced it back, and 
answered that it would soon be ready, and 
Carloman looked imploringly at his brother, and 
said, “ Do not make them angry, Lothaire.” 

“ What, crying still, foolish child ? ” said 
Lothaire. Do you not know that if they dare 


The Hostages. 


199 


to cross us, my father will treat them as they 
deserve? Bring supper. 1 say, and let me have 
a pasty of ortolans.” 

“ There are none — they are not in season,” 
said Richard. 

“ Do you mean to give me nothing I like ? 1 

tell you it shall be the worse for you.” 

“ There is a pullet roasting,” began Richard. 

“I tell you, I do not care for pullets—I will 
have ortolans.” 

“If I do not take order with that boy, my 
name is not Eric,” muttered the Baron. 

“ What must lie not have made our poor child 
suffer!” returned Fru Astrida, “but the little 
one moves my heart. How small and weakly he 
is, but it is worth anything to see our little Duke 
so tender to him.” 

“ He is too brave not to be gentle,” said 
Osmond; and, indeed, the high-spirited, impetu¬ 
ous boy was as soft and kind as a maiden, with 
that feeble timid child. He coaxed him to eat, 
consoled him, and, instead of laughing at his 
fears, kept between him and the great blood¬ 
hound, Hardigras, and drove it off when it came 
too near. 

“ Take that dog away,” said Lothaire, impc- 


200 


The Little Duke. 


riously. No one moved to obey him, and the 
dog, in seeking for scraps, again came towards 
him. 

“ Take it away,” he repeated, and struck it 
with his foot. The dog growled, and Richard 
started up in indignation. 

“Prince Lothaire,” he said, “I care not what 
else you do, but my dogs and my people you 
shall not maltreat. 

“ I tell you I am Prince ! I do what I will 1 
Ha! who laughs there ? ” cried the passionate 
bo}^, slamping on the door. f 

“ It is not so easy f^r French Princes to scourge 
free-born Normans here,” said the rough voice of 
Walter the huntsman: “there is a reckoning for 
the stripe my Lord Duke bore for me.” 

“Hush, hush, Walter,” began Richard; but 
Lothaire had caught up a footstool, and was 
aiming it at the huntsman, when his arm was 
caught. Osmond, who knew him well enough to 
be prepared for such outbreaks, held him fast 
by both hands, in spite of his passionate screams 
and struggles, which were like those of one 
frantic. 

Sir Eric, meanwhile, thundered forth in his 
Norman patois, “I would have you to know, 


The Hostages. 


201 


young Sir, Prince though you be, you are our 
prisoner, and shall taste of a dungeon, and bread 
and water, unless you behave yourself/’ 

Either Lothaire did not hear, or did not be¬ 
lieve, and fought more furiously in Osmond’s 
arms, but he had little chance with the stalwart 
young warrior, and, in spite of Richard’s re¬ 
monstrances, he was carried from the hall, roar¬ 
ing and kicking, and locked up alone in an 
empty room. 

“ Let him alone for the present,” said Sir Eric, 
putting the Duke aside, “ when he knows his 
master, we shall have peace.” 

Here Richard had to turn to re-assure Carlo- 
man, who had taken refuge in a dark corner, 
and there shook like an aspen leaf, crying 
bitterly, and starting with fright when Richard 
touched him. 

“ Oh, do not put me in the dungeon. I cannot 
bear the dark.” 

Richard again tried to comfort him, but he 
did not seem to hear or heed. “ Oh ! they said 
you would beat and hurt us for what we did to 
you! but, indeed, it was not I that burnt your 
cheek ! ” 

“ We would not hurt you for worlds, dear 


202 


The Little Duke. 


Carloman; Lothaire is not in the dungeon — he 
is only shut up till he is good.” 

“ It was Lothaire that did it,” repeated Carlo- 
man, “ and indeed, you must not be angry with 
me, for my mother was so cross with me for not 
having stopped Osmond when I met him with 
the bundle of straw, that she gave me a blow 
that knocked me down. And were you really 
there, Richard ? ” 

Richard told his story, and was glad to find 
Carloman could smile at it; and then Fru Astrida 
advised him to take his little friend to * bed. 
Carloman would not lie down without still 
holding Richard’s hand, and the little Duke 
spared no pains to set him at rest, knowing 
what it was to be a desolate captive far from 
home. 

“I thought you would be good to me,” said 
Carloman. 41 As to Lothaire, it served him right, 
that you should use him as he used you.” 

“ Oh, no, Carloman ; If I had a brother I would 
never speak so of him.” 

# 

44 But Lothaire is so unkind.” 

“ Ah ! but we must be kind to those who are 
unkind to us.” 

The child rose on his elbow, and looked into 


The Hostages . 


203 


i 

Richard’s face. “ No one ever told me so 
before.” 

u O Carloman, not brother Hilary?” 

“I never heed Brother Hilary—he is so 
lengthy, and wearisome; besides, none are ever 
kind to those that hate them.” 

“ My father was,” said Richard. 

And they killed him! ” said Carloman. 

“ Yes,” said Richard, crossing himself, “ but 
he is gone to be in peace.” 

“I wonder if it is happier there, than here,” 
said Carloman. “ I am not happy. But tell 
me why should we be good to those that hate 
us?” 

** Because the holy saints were — and look at 
the Crucifix Carloman. That was for them 
that hated Him. And don’t you know what 
our Pater Noster says?” 

Poor little Carloman coirid only repeat the 
Lord’s Prayer in Latin—he had not the least 
notion of its meaning — in which Richard had 
been carefully instructed by Father Lucasi He 
began to explain it, but before many words had 
passed his lips, little Carloman was asleep. 

The Duke crept softly away to beg to be 
allowed to go to Lothaire; he entered the room, 


204 


The Little Duke. 


already dark, with a pine torch in his hand, that 
so flickered in the wind, that he could at first 
see nothing; but presently beheld a dark lump 
oil the floor. 

“ Prince Lothaire,” he said, “ here is-” 

Lothaire cut him short. “ Get away,” he said. 
“If it is your turn now, it will be mine by-and- 
by. I wish my mother had kept her word, and 
put your eyes out.” 

Richard’s temper did not serve for such a 
reply. “ It is a foul shame of you to speak so, 
when I only came out of kindness to you — so 
I shall leave you here all night, and not ask 
Sir Eric to let you out.” 

And he swung back the heavy door with a 
resounding clang. Burt his heart smote him 
when he told his beads, and remembered what 
he had said to Carloman. He knew he could 
not sleep in his warm bed when Lothaire was in 
that cold gusty room. To be sure, Sir Eric said 
it would do him good, but Sir Eric little knew 
how tender the French Princes were. 

So Richard crept down in the dark, slid back 
the bolt, and called, “ Prince, Prince, I am sorry 
I was angry. Come out, and let us try to be 
friends. 



The Hostages . 


205 


“What do you mean?” said Lothaire. 

“ Come out of the cold and dark. Here am I. 
I will show you the wa}\ Where is your hand ? 
Oh, how cold it is. Let me lead you down to 
the hall fire.” 

Lothaire was subdued by fright, cold, and 
darkness, and quietly allowed Richard to lead 
him down. Round the fire, at the lower end of 
the hall, snored half-a-dozen men-at-arms; at 
the upper hearth there was only Hardigras, who 
raised his head as the boys came on. Richard’s 
whisper and soft pat quieted him instantly, and 
the two little Princes sat on the hearth together 
Lothaire, surprised, but sullen. Richard stirred 
the embers, so as to bring out more heat, then 
spoke: “ Prince, will you let us be friends ? ” 

“I must, if I am in your power.” 

“ I wish you would be my guest and com¬ 
rade.” 

“ Well, I will; I can’t help it.” 

Richard thought his advances might have 
been more graciously met, and, having little 
encouragement to say more, took Lothaire to 
bed, as soon as he was warm. 


CHAPTER XI. 


LITTLE CARLOMAN. 


S the Baron had said, there was more peace 



jljl now that Lothaire had learnt that he must 
submit, and that no one cared for his threats 
of his father’s, or his mother’s vengeance. He 
was very sulky and disagreeable, and severely 
tried Richard’s forbearance; but there were no 
fresh outbursts, and, on the whole, from one 
week to another, there might be said to be an 
improvement. He could not always hold aloof 
from one so good-natured and good-humored 
as the little Duke; and the fact of being kept in 
order could not but have some beneficial effect 
on him, after such spoiling as his had been at 


home, 


Indeed, Osmond was once heard to say, it was 


Little Carloman. 


207 


a pity the boy was not to be a hostage for life; 
to which Sir Eric replied, “So long as we have 
not the training of him.” 

Little Carloman, meanwhile, recovered from 
his fears of all the inmates of the Castle, ex¬ 
cepting Hardigras, at whose approach he always 
shrank and trembled. 

He renewed his friendship with Osmond, no 
longer started at the entrance of Sir Eric, laughed 
at Alberic’s merry ways, and liked to sit on Fru 
Astrida’s lap, and hear her sing, though he un¬ 
derstood not one word; but his especial love was 
still for his first friend, Duke Richard. Hand-in- 
hand they went about together, Richard some¬ 
times lifting him up the steep steps, and, out of 
consideration for him, refraining from rough play; 
and Richard led him to join with him in those 
lessons that Father Lucas gave the children of 
the Castle, every Friday and Sunday evening, in 
the Chapel. The good Priest stood on the Altar 
steps, with the children in a half circle round 
him — the son and daughter of the armorer, the 
huntsman’s little son, the young Baron de 
Mont^mar, the Duke of Normandy, and the 
Prince of France, all were equal there — and 
together they learnt, as he explained to them 


208 


The Little Duke. 


the things most needful to believe; and thus 
Carloman left off wondering why Richard thought 
it right to be good to his enemies; and though 
at first he had known less than even the little 
leather-coated huntsman, he seemed to take the 
holy lessons in faster than any of them — yes, 
and act on them, too. His feeble health seemed 
to make him enter into their comfort and mean¬ 
ing more than even Richard; and Alberic and 
Father Lucas soon told Fru Astrida that it was 
a saintly-minded child. 

Indeed, Carloman was more disposed to 
thoughtfulness, because he was incapable of 
joining in the sports of the other boys. A 
race round the court was beyond his strength, 
the fresh wind on the battlements made him shiver 
and cower, and loud shouting play was dreadful 
to him. In old times, he used to cry when 
Lothaire told him he must have his hair cut, 
and be a priest; now, he only said quietly, he 
should like it very much, if he could be good 
enough. 

Fru Astrida sighed and shook her head, and 
feared the poor child would never grow up to be 
anything on this earth. Great as had been the 
difference at first between him and Richard, it 


Little Carloman. 


209 


was now far greater. Richard was an unusually 
strong boy for ten years old, upright and broad- 
chested, and growing very fast; while Carloman 
seemed to dwindle, stooped forward from weak¬ 
ness, had thin pinched features, and sallow 
cheeks, looking like a plant kept in the dark. 

The old Baron said that hardy, healthy habits 
would restore the puny children ; and Lothaire 
improved in health, and therewith in temper; 
but his little brother had not strength enough 
to bear the seasoning. He pined and drooped 
more each day; and as the autumn came on, 
and the wind was chilly, he grew worse, and 
was scarcely ever off the lap of the kind Lady 
Astrida. It was not a settled sickness, but he 
grew weaker, and wasted away. They made up 
a little couch for him by the fire, with the high 
settle between it and the door, to keep off the 
draughts; and there he used patiently to lie, 
hour after hour, speaking fefebly, or smiling and 
seeming pleased, when any one of those he loved 
approached. He liked Father Lucas to come, 
and say prayers with him; and he never failed 
to have a glad look, when his dear little Duke 
came to talk to him, in his cheerful voice, about 
his rides and his hunting and hawking adven- 


210 


The Little Buhe. 


tures. Richard’s sick guest took up much of 
his thoughts, and he never willingly spent many 
hours at a distance from him, softening his step, 
and lowering his voice, as he entered the hall, 
lest Carloman should be asleep. 

“Richard, is it you?” said the little boy, as 
the young figure came round the settle in the 
darkening twilight. 

“Yes. How do you feel now, Carloman ; are 
you better?” 

“No better, thanks, dear Richard;” and the 
little wasted fingers were put into his. 

“ Has the pain come again ? ” 

“ No; I have been lying still musing ; Richard 
1 shall never be better.” 

“ Oh, do not say so! You will, indeed you 
will, when spring comes.” 

“ I feel as if I should die,” said the little boy; 
“I think I shall. But do not grieve, Richard; 
I do not feel much afraid. You said it was 
happier there than here, and I know it now.” 

“ Where my blessed father is,” said Richard, 
thoughtfully. “ But oh, Carloman, you are so 
young to die ! ” 

“ I do not want to live. This is a fighting, 
hard world, full of cruel people ; and it is peace 


Little Carloman. 


211 


there. You are strong and brave, and will make 
them better; but 1 am weak and fearful — I 
could only sigh and grieve.” 

“ O Carloman ! Carloman ! I cannot spare you. 
I love you like my own brother. You must not 
die — you must live to see your father and 
mother again ! ” 

“Commend me to them,” said Carloman. “I 
am going to my Father in heaven. 1 am glad 
1 am here, Richard; I never was so happy be¬ 
fore. I should have been afraid indeed to die, 
if Father Lucas had not taught me how my 
sins are pardoned. Now, I think the Saints and 
Angels are waiting for me.” 

He spoke feebly, and his last words faltered 
into sleep. He slept on; and when supper was 
brought and the lamps were lighted, Fru As- 
trida thought the little face looked unusually 
pale and waxen; but he did not awake. At 
night, they carried him to his bed, and he was 
roused into a half-conscious state, moaning at 
being disturbed. Fru Astrida would not leave 
him, and Father Lucas shared her watch. 

At midnight, all were wakened by the slow 
notes, falling one by one on the ear, of the sol¬ 
emn passing-bell, calling them to waken, that 


212 


The Little Duke . 


their prayers might speed a soul on its way. 
Richard and Lothaire were soon at the bedside. 
Carloman lay still asleep, his hands folded on 
his breast, but his breath came in long gasps. 
Father Lucas was praying over him, and candles 
were placed on each side of the bed. All was 
still, the boys not daring to speak or move. 
Then came a longer breath — then they heard 
no more. He was, indeed, gone to a happier 
home—a truer royalty than ever had been his 
on earth. 

Then the boys’ grief burst out. Lothaire 
screamed for his mother, and sobbed out that 
he should die too — he must go home. Richard 
stood by the bed, large, silent tears rolling down 
his cheeks, and his chest heaving with sup¬ 
pressed sobs. 

Fru Astrida led them from the room, back to 
their beds. Lothaire soon cried himself to sleep. 
Richard laid awake, sorrowful, and in deep 
thought; while that scene in St. Mary’s at 
Rouen, returned before his eyes, and though it 
had passed nearly two years ago, its meaning 
and its teaching had sunk deep into his mind, 
and now stood before him more completely. 

“ Where shall I go, when I come to die, if I 


Little Carloman. 


213 


have not returned good for evil. And a resolu¬ 
tion was taken, in the mind of the little Duke. 

Morning came, and brought back the sense 
that his gentle little companion was gone from 
him; and Richard wept again, as if he could 
not be consoled, as he beheld the screened couch 
where the patient smile would never again greet 
him. He now knew that he had loved Carlo- 
man all the more for his weakness and helpless¬ 
ness ; but his grief was not like Lothair’s, for 
with the Prince’s was still joined a selfish fear; 
his cry was still, that he should die too, if not 
set free, and violent weeping really made him 
heavy and ill. 

The little corpse, embalmed and lapped in 
lead, was to be sent back to France that it might 
rest with its forefathers in the city of Rheims; 
and Lothaire seemed to feel this as an additional 
stroke of desertion. He was almost beside him¬ 
self with despair, imploring every one in turn, 
to send him home, though he well knew they 
were unable to do so. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE PARLEMENT. 

S IR ERIC,” said Richard, “ you told me there 
was a Parlement to be held at Falaise, be¬ 
tween Count Bernard and the King of Denmark. 
I mean to attend it. Will you come with me, 
or shall Osmond go, and you remain in charge 
of the Prince ? ” 

“ How now, Lord Richard, you were not wont 
to love a Parlement?” 

“I have something to say,” replied Richard. 
The Baron made no objection, only telling his 
mother that the Duke was a marvellous wise 
child, and that he would soon be fit to take the 
government himself. 

Lothaire lamented the more when he found 

that Richard was going away; his presence 
214 


The Parlement. 


215 


seemed to him a protection, and he fancied, now 
Carloman was dead, that his former injuries were 
about to be revenged. The Duke assured him 
repeatedly, that he meant him nothing but kind¬ 
ness, adding, “ When T return, you will see, 
Lothaire,” then, commending him to the care and 
kindness of Fru Astrida, Osmond, and Alberic, 
Richard set forth upon his pony, attended by 
Sir Eric and three men-at-arms. 

Richard felt sad when he looked back at 
Bayeux, and thought that it no longer contained 
his dear little friend ; but it was a fresh bright 
frosty morning, the fields were covered with a 
silvery-white coating, the flakes of hoar-frost 
sparkled on every bush, and the hard ground 
rung cheerily to the tread of the horses’ feet. As 
the yellow sun fought his way through the grey 
mists that dimmed his brightness, and shone out 
merrily in the blue heights of the sky, Richard’s 
spirits rose, and he laughed and shouted, as hare 
or rabbit rushed across the heath, or as the plover 
rose screaming above his head, flapping her broad 
wings across the wintry sky. 

One night they slept at a Convent, where they 
heard that Hugh of Paris had passed on to join 
the conference at Falaise. The next day they 


216 


The Little Duke. 


rode on, and, towards the afternoon, the Baron 
pointed to a sharp rocky range of hills, crowned 
by a tall solid tower, and told Richard, yonder 
was his keep of Falaise, the strongest Castle in 
Normandy. 

The country was far more broken as they 
advanced — narrow valleys and sharp hills, each 
little vale full of wood, and interspersed with 
rocks. “ A choice place for game,” Sir Eric said ; 
and Richard, as he saw a herd of deer dash 
down a forest glade, exclaimed, “ that they must 
come here to stay, for some autumn sport.” 

There seemed to be huntsmen abroad in the 
woods; for through the frosty air came the 
baying of dogs, the shouts and calls of men, 
and now and then, the echoing, ringing notes of 
a bugle. Richard’s eyes and cheeks glowed with 
excitement, and he pushed his brisk little pon}^ 
on faster and faster, unheeding that the heavier 
men and horses of his suite were not keeping 
pace with him on the rough ground and through 
the tangled boughs. 

Presently, a strange sound of growling and 
snarling was heard close at hand: his pony 
swerved aside, and could not be made to ad¬ 
vance ; so Richard, dismounting, dashed through 


The Parlement, 


217 


some briars, and there, on an open space, be¬ 
neath a precipice of dark ivy-covered rock, that 
rose like a wall, he beheld a huge grey wolf and 
a large dog in mortal combat. It was as if they 
had fallen or rolled down the precipice together, 
not heeding it in their fury. Both were bleeding, 
and the eyes of both glared like red fiery glass 
in the dark shadow of the rock. The dog lay 
undermost, almost overpowered, making but a 
feeble resistance; and the wolf would, in another 
moment, be at liberty to spring on the lonely 
child. 

But not a thought of fear passed through his 
breast; to save the dog was Rickard’s only idea. 
In one moment he had drawn the dagger he 
wore at his girdle, run to the two. struggling 
animals, and, with all his force, plunged it into 
the throat of the wolf, which happily, was still 
held by the teeth of the hound. 

The struggles relaxed, the wolf rolled heavily 
aside, dead ; the dog lay panting and bleeding, 
and Richard feared he was cruelly torn. 44 Poor 
fellow ! noble dog I what shall I do to help 
you ? ” and he gently smoothed the dark brin¬ 
dled head. 

A voice was now heard shouting aloud., at 


218 


The Little Duke. 


which the dog raised and crested his head, as a 
figure in a hunting dress was coming down a 
rocky pathway, an extremely tall, well-made 
man of noble features. “ Ha ! holla ! Yige ! 
Vige! How now, my brave hound ? ” he said 
in the Northern tongue, though not quite with 
the accent Richard was accustomed to hear. 
“ Art hurt?” 

“Much torn, I fear,’.’ Richard called out, as 
the faithful creature wagged his tail, and strove 
to rise and meet his master. 

“ Ha, lad! what art thou ? ” exclaimed the 
hunter, amazed at seeing the boy between the 
dead wolf and wounded dog. “ You look like 
one of those Frenchified Norman gentilesse, with 
your smooth locks and gilded baldrick, yet your 
words are Norse. By the hammer of Thor ! that 
is a dagger in the wolf’s throat! ” 

“ It is mine,” said Richard. “ I found your 
dog nearly spent, and I made in to the rescue.” 

“You did? Well done! 1 would not have 
lost Yige for all the plunder of Italy. I am 
beholden to you, my brave young lad,” said the 
stranger, all the time examining and caressing 
the hound. “ What is your name ? You cannot 
be Southern bred ? ” 


The Parlement. 


219 


As he spoke, more shouts came near; and the 
Baron de Centeville rushed through the trees, 
holding Richard’s pony by the bridle. “My 
Lord, my Lord ! — oh, thank Heaven, I see you 
safe ! ” At the same moment a party of hunters 
also approached by the path, and at the head of 
them Bernard the Dane. 

“ Ha ! ” exclaimed he, “ what do I see ? My 
young Lord! what brought you here?” And, 
with a hasty obeisance, Bernard took Richard’s 
outstretched hand. 

“ I came hither to attend your council,” replied 
Richard. “ I have a boon to ask of the King of 
Denmark.” 

“ Any boon the King of Denmark has in his 
power will be yours,” said the dog’s master, slap¬ 
ping his hand on the little Duke’s shoulder with 
a rude, hearty familiarity, that took him by sur¬ 
prise ; and he looked up with a shade of offence, 
till, on a sudden flash of perception, he took off 
his cap, exclaiming, “ King Harald himself! 
Pardon me, Sir King ! ” 

“ Pardon, Jarl Richart! What would you have 
me pardon?—your saving the life of Vige here? 
No French politeness for me. Tell me your 


220 


The Little Duke. 


boon, and it is } r ours. Shall I take you a voyage, 
and harry the fat monks of Ireland ? ” 

Richard recoiled a little from his new friend. 

“ Oh, ha ! I forgot. They have made a Chris¬ 
tian of you — more’s the pity. You have the 
Northern spirit so strong. I had forgotten it. 
Come, walk by my side, and let me hear what 
you would ask. Holla, you Sweyn ! carry Yige 
up to the Castle, and look to his wounds. Now 
for it, young Jarl.” 

“ My boon is, that you would set free Prince 
Lothaire.” 

44 What? — the young Frank? Why, they kept 
you captive, burnt your face, and would have 
made an end of you but for your clever Bonder.” 

44 That is long past, and Lothaire is so wretched. 
His brother is dead, and he i3 sick with grief, 
and he says he shall die if he does not go home.” 

44 A good thing too for the treacherous race to 
die out in him ! What should you care for him? 
he is your foe.” 

44 1 am a Christian,” was Richard’s answer. 

44 Well, I promised you whatever you might 
ask. All my share of his ransom, or his person, 
bond or free, is yours. You have only to prevail 
with your own Jarls and Bonders.” 


The Parlement . 


221 


Richard feared this would be more difficult; 
but Abbot Martin came to the meeting, and 
took his part. Moreover, the idea of their 
hostage dying in their hands, so as to leave them 
without hold upon the King, had much weight 
with them; and, after long deliberation, they con¬ 
sented that Lothaire should be restored to his 
father, without ransom, but only on condition 
that Louis should guarantee to the Duke the 
peaceable possession of the country, as far as 
St. Clair sur Epte, which had been long in dis¬ 
pute; so that Alberic became, indisputably, a 
vassal of Normandy. 

Perhaps it was the happiest day in Richard’s 
life, when he rode back to Bayeux, to desire 
Lothaire to prepare to come with him to St. 
Clair, there to be given back into the hands of 
his father. 

And then they met King Louis, grave and 
sorrowful for the loss of his little Carloman, and, 
for the time, repenting of his misdeeds towards 
the orphan heir of Normandy. 

He pressed the Duke in his arms, and his kiss 
was a genuine one as he said, “ Duke Richard, 
we have not deserved this of you. I did not 
treat you as you have treated my children. We 


222 


The Little Duke. 


will be true lord and vassal from henceforth.” 

Lothaire’s last words were, “ Farewell, Richard. 
If I lived with you, I might be good like you. 
I will never forget what you have done for me.” 

When Richard once more entered Rouen in 
state, his subjects shouted round him in transports 
of joy, better than all his honor and glory was 
the being able to enter the Church of our Lady, 
and kneel by his father’s grave, with a clear con¬ 
science, and the sense that he had tried to keep 
that last injunction. 


CONCLUSION. 


EARS bad passed awaj^. The oaths of 



A Louis, and promises of Lothaire, had been 
broken; and Arnulf of Flanders, the murderer 
of Duke William, had incited them to repeated 
and treacherous inroads on Normandy; so that 
Richard’s life, from fourteen to five or six-and- 
twenty, had been one long war in defence of his 
country. But it had been a glorious war for 
him, and his gallant deeds had well earned for 
him the title of “Richard the Fearless”— a 
name well deserved; for there was but one 
thing he feared, and that was, to do wrong. 

B} r -and-by, success and peace came; and 
then Arnulf of Flanders, finding open force 
would not destroy him, three times made at¬ 
tempts to assassinate him, like his father, by 
treachery. But all these had failed; and now 


224 


The Little Duke. 


Richard had enjoyed many years of peace and 
honor, whilst his enemies had vanished from 
his sight. 

King Louis was killed by a fall from his horse; 
Lothaire died in early youth, and in him ended 
the degenerate line of Charlemagne; Hugh 
Capet, the son of Richard’s old friend, Hugh 
the White, was on the throne of France, his 
sure ally and brother-in-law, looking to him for 
advice and aid in all his undertakings. 

Fru Astrida and Sir Eric had long been in 
their quiet graves; Osmond and Alberic were 
among Richard’s most trust}' councillors and 
warriors; Abbot Martin, in extreme old age, still 
ruled the Abbey of Jumidges, where Richard, 
like his father, loved to visit him, hold converse 
with him, and refresh himself in the peaceful 
cloister, after the affairs of state and war. 

And Richard himself was a grey-headed man, 
of lofty stature and majestic bearing. His eldest 
son was older than he had been himself when he 
became the little Duke, and he had even begun 
to remember his father’s projects of an old age, 
to be spent in retirement and peace. 

It was a summer eve, that Duke Richard 
sat beside the white-bearded old Abbot, within 


Conclusion. 


225 


the porch, looking at the sun shining with soft 
declining beams on the arches and columns. 
They spoke together of that burial at Rouen, 
and of the silver key; the Abbot delighting to 
tell, over and over again, all the good deeds 
and good sayings of William Longsword. 

As they sat, a man, also very old and shriv¬ 
elled and bent, came up to the cloister gate, 
with the tottering, feeble steps of one pursued 
beyond his strength, coming to the sanctuary. 

“What can be the crime of one so aged and 
feeble ? ” said the Duke, in surprise. 

At the sight of him, a look of terror shot from 
the old man’s eye. He clasped his hands to¬ 
gether, and turned as if to flee ; then, finding 
himself incapable of escape, he threw himself on 
the ground before him. 

“ Mercy, mercy ! noble, most noble Duke ! ” 
was all he said. 

“ Rise up — kneel not to me. I cannot brook 
this from one who might be my father,” said 
Richard, trying to raise him ; but at those words 
the old man groaned and crouched lower still. 

“Who art thou?” said the Duke. “In this 
holy place thou art secure, be thy deed what it 
may. Speak ! — who art thou ? ” 


226 


The Little Luke. 


“ Dost thou not know me ? ” said the sup¬ 
pliant. “ Promise mercy, ere thou dost hear my 
name.” 

“I have seen that face under a helmet,” said 
the Duke. “ Thou art Arnulf of Flanders! ” 

There was a deep silence. 

“ And wherefore art thou here ? ” 

“ I delayed to own the French King Hugh. 
He has taken my towns and ravaged my lands. 
Each Frenchman and each Norman vows to 
slay me, in revenge for your wrongs, Lord Duke. 
I have been driven hither and thither, in fear of 
my life, till I thought of the renown of Duke 
Richard, not merely the most fearless but the 
most merciful of Princes. I sought to come 
hither, trusting that, when the holy Father Abbot 
beheld my bitter repentance, he would intercede 
for me with you, most noble Prince, for my 
safety and forgiveness. Oh, gallant Duke, for¬ 
give and spare ! ” 

“ Rise up, Arnulf,” said Richard. “ Where the 
hand of the Lord hath stricken, it is not for man 
to exact his own reckoning. My father’s death 
has been long forgiven, and what you may have 
planned against myself has, by the blessing of 
Heaven, been brought to naught. From Nor- 


Conclusion. 


227 


mans, at least, you are safe; and it shall be my 
work to ensure your pardon from my brother 
the King. Come into the refectory; you need 
refreshment. The Lord Abbot makes you wel¬ 
come.” 17 

Tears of gratitude and true repentence choked 
Arnulf’s speech, and he allowed himself to be 
raised from the ground, and was forced to accept 
the support of the Duke’s arm. 

The venerable Abbot slowly rose, and held up 
his hand in an attitude of blessing: 

“ The blessing of a merciful God be upon the 
sinner who turneth from his evil way; and ten 
thousand blessings of pardon and peace are 
already on the head of him who hath stretched 
out his hand to forgive and aid him who was 
once his most grievous foe I ” 




















































* { ‘ -*• . . rJ h ^ : ; ’ 





' I l '■• ' . 4 1 










• 





RICHARD’S ENCOUNTER WITH THE WOLF. 



































































































































































































I 


NOTES. 


Page ii. i. Richard’s place of education was Bayeux ; 
for, as Duke William says in the rhymed Chronicle of 
Normandy: 

“ Si & Roem le faz garder 
E norir, gaires longement 
II ne saura parlier neiant 
Daneis, kar nul n l’i parole. 

Si voil qu’il seit a tele escole 
Qii Ten le sache endoctriner 
Que as Daneis sache parler. 

Ci ne sevent riens fors Romanz 
Mais h Baieux en a tanz 
Qui ne sevent si Daneis non.” 


Page 15. 2. Bernard was founder of the family of Har- 

court of Nuneham. Ferri&res, the ancestor of that of 
Ferrars. 


K 


Page 17. 3. In the same Chronicle, William Long- 
sword directs that: 

“Tant seit apris qu’il lise un bref 
Kar ceo ne li ert pas trop gref.” 

231 


232 


Notes. 


Page 18. 4. Hako of Norway was educated by Ethel- 
stane of England. It was Foulques le Bon, the contempo¬ 
rary Count of Anjou, who, when derided by Louis IV., for 
serving in the choir of Tours, wrote the following retort: 
“ The Count of Anjou to the King of France. Apprenez, 
Monseigneur, qu’un roi sane lettres est une &ne couronnW” 

Page 21. 5. The Banner of Normandy was a cross till 
William the Conqueror adopted the lion. 

Page 30. 6. “ Sire, soi^s mon escus, sotes mes defende- 
mens.” Histoire des Dues de Normandie. — Michel.) 

Page 36. 7. The Cathedral was afterwards built by 

Richard himself. 

Page 46. 8. Sus le maistre autel del iglise 
Li unt sa feaut^ jur^e. 

Page 55. 9. Une clef d’argent unt trovee 
A sun braiol estreit noee 
Tout la gent se merveiiiont 
Que cete clef signifiont. 

* * * * * 

Ni la cuoule e l’estamine 
En aveit il en un archete, 

Que disfermeront ceste clavete 
De sol itant ert tresorier 
Kar nul tresor n’avait plus cher. 


Notes. 


233 


The history of the adventures of Jumifcges is literally 
true, as is Martin’s refusal to admit the Duke to the 
cloister: 

Dun ne t’a Deus mis e pose 
Prince gardain de sainte iglise 
E pur tenir leial justise. 

Page 6o. io. An attack, in which Riouf, Vicomte du 
Cotentin, placed Normandy in the utmost danger. He was 
defeated on the banks of the Seine, in a field still called the 
“ Pr£ de Battaille,” on the very day of Richard’s birth; so 
that the Te Deuin was sung at once for the victory and 
the birth of the heir of Normandy. 

Page 98. 11. “ Biaus Segnors, v 6 e s chi vo segneur, je 

ne le vous voel tolir, mais je estoie venus en ceste ville, 
prendre consel a vous, comment je poroie vengier la mort 
son p^re, qui me rapiela d’Engleti^re. II me fist roi, il 
me fist avoir l’amour le roi d’Alemaigne, il leva mon fii de 
fons, il me fist toz les biens, et jou en renderai au fill le 
guerredon se je puis.” — Michel. 

Page 144. 12. In a battle fought with Lothaire at Char- 

menil, Richard saved the life of Walter the huntsman, who 
had been with him from his youth. 

Page 144. 13. At fourteen years of age, Richard was 

betrothed to Eumacette of Paris, then but eight years old. 
In such esteem did Hugues la Blanc hold his son-in-law, 
that, on his death-bed he committed his son Hugues Capet 
of his guardianship, though the Duke was then scarcely 


234 


Noted. 


above twenty, proposing him as the model of wisdom and 
of chivalry. 

Page 150. 14. “Osmons, qui l’enfant ensengnoit Ten 

mena i jour en riviere, et quant il revint, la reine Gerberge 
dist que se il jamais l’enmenait fors des murs, elle li ferait 
les ieix crever.” — Michel. 

Page 177. 15. “Gules, two wings conjoined in lure, or,” 
is the original coat of St. Maur, or Seymour, said to be 
derived from Osmond de Centeville, who assumed them in 
honor of his flight with Duke Richard. His direct de¬ 
scendants in Normandy were the Marquises of Osmond, 
whose arms were gules, two wings ermine. In 1789 there 
were two survivors of the line of Centeville, one a Canon 
of Notre Dame, the other a Chevalier de St. Louis who died 
childless. 

Page 178. 16. Harald of Norway, who made a vow 

never to trim his hair till he had made himself sole king of 
the country. The war lasted ten years, and he thus might 
well come to deserve the title of HorridTocks, which was 
changed to that of Harfagre, or fair-haired, when he cele¬ 
brated his final victory, by going into a bath at More, and 
committing his shaggy hair to be cut and arranged by his 
friend, Jarl Rognwald, father of Rollo. 

Page 227. 17. Richard obtained for Arnulf the restitu¬ 
tion of Arras, and several other Flemish towns. He died 
eight years afterwards in 996, leaving several children, 
among whom his daughter Emma is connected with Eng- 


Notes. 


235 


lish history, by her marriage, first, with Ethelred the Un¬ 
ready, and secondly, with Knute, the grandson of his firm 
friend and ally, Harald Blue-tooth. His son was Richard, 
called the good; his grandson, Robert the Magnificent; 
his great-grandson, William the Conqueror, who brought 
the Norman race to England. Few names in history shine 
with so consistent a lustre as that of Richard; at first the 
little Duke, afterwards Richard aux longues jambes, but 
always Richard sans peur. This little sketch has only 
brought forward the perils of his childhood, but his early 
manhood was likewise full of adventures, in which he 
always proved himself brave, honorable, pious and for¬ 
bearing. But for these our readers must search for them¬ 
selves into early French history, where all they will find 
concerning our hero will only tend to exalt his character. 


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